Lightning
by ChaosKirin
Summary: Stan, Kenny, and the other kids from South Park have an adventure. Stan finds out what it's like to have Kenny's power, and the only way to put things right again is to visit ol' Cthulhu.
1. Chapter 1

It was starting to rain now, which supposedly signaled the fact that spring would soon be coming to South Park. This rain chilled, though; as it was only a degree or two above freezing, snow would be more tolerable. The wetness soaked through clothing, through skin, and – some people would say – right to the bone. Colorado's weather had no mercy.

Kenny drew the strings on his parka, but the rain had already soaked through it, so the gesture was useless. Just behind him, Stan held his backpack over his head like an umbrella, attempting to keep some of the wetness at bay. This only created a sort of siphon for the water, though, which collected on the top surface of the canvas bag and eventually dribbled down in a stream all over Stan's head. The black-haired boy sighed.

"We're almost there," Kenny said, squinting. Through the rain, he saw his home just beyond the railroad tracks.

"Yeah, yeah, we shoulda done this at my house," Stan said, looking over his shoulder as a crack of thunder sounded from above. "It was closer. I mean, if all the books and stuff weren't... at your..." He sighed again.

Together, the two of them had been assigned to complete a spring science project. Kenny's brilliant idea was to test various household materials on plants, which, of course, meant that there were plants all over the damn house. With Stan's mother objecting to the rather messy setup, everything had to be moved into Kenny's unused garage. With a little creativity, he and his project partner managed to rig up a really effective greenhouse that not only kept the plants alive, but caused them to thrive. It also kept out the cold, which persisted ten months out of the year in the mountains.

As always, Kenny looked both ways before stepping onto the railroad tracks. Then he did it again, because trains had the strange habit of coming out of absolutely nowhere and killing him even if there hadn't been a train around at all before. Stan hopped up onto the rail after him, looking up at the dark clouds. "Dude, this is gonna be a hell of a storm," he noted as he stepped down to the opposite side of the tracks and headed toward the nearby home. Pausing, Kenny glanced upward at the angry, churning, black clouds.

As he turned toward his house, he was engulfed by a blinding white light. The powerful shock of electricity coursed through his body, and he barely had enough time to register the fact that he'd been struck by lightning before he felt nothing at all.

* * *

Mornings typically always began with comfort, because death and subsequent resurrection always removed the aches and pains which came from passing on. Kenny actually started to look forward to waking up the mornings after his deaths, since he felt such an intense sense of safety and security at those moments that dying almost seemed okay.

Instead, he awoke in intense pain, blinking open eyes that were blurry and unfocused. The room around him seemed to spin; the stinging feeling in all his limbs wouldn't allow him to close his eyes again.

"Oh, fuck..." he muttered, voice rusty, lower, and dry. Someone had taken his parka off, which made sense, considering what had happened. At least he didn't feel burned. He hated feeling burned. "Can't believe I..."

Grunting, he tried to push himself up. Over the years, he'd kind of grown accustomed to high doses of pain, even though he didn't LIKE it any more than he ever did. It all felt wrong, though. Like his neurons weren't all deadened from years of being stabbed, shot, run over, boiled and crushed.

...And eviscerated, maimed, run through, lasered... et cetera.

Burned and blackened hair fell into his eyes. It must have been some current to char his hair. As he focused on that, he noted that Stan's parents were standing just in the periphery of his vision. Even though it was still hard to stare at anything, he turned his head to look at them. "How's..." He tried again, clearing his throat.

Mrs. Marsh poured a glass of water from the bedside table. "Here. This might help."

The heart monitor indicated the increase in Kenny's pulse. If Stan's parents were here – near HIS bedside – then that meant that Stan was either fine or... dead! Oh god. Jesus. Kenny's bad luck hadn't ever led to another of his friends getting killed! He winced, looking around the room. Kyle was asleep in one of the chairs, his orange coat draped over him like a blanket. Thrown over the back of that chair was a rather badly torn and singed orange parka. Under that?

A brown coat. Stan's coat. Equally shredded and burned.

Kenny attempted to swing his legs off the bed, but Mrs. Marsh quickly guided him back, pulling the sheet over him. Even that little bit of movement was far too painful, so it was impossible to resist when he was returned to a more restful position.

Taking the glass of water from Stan's mother, Kenny took a sip before setting it down. He wasn't really thirsty, in light of the bigger problem that was on his mind.

Across the room, Kyle blinked awake. Blearily noting that his friend seemed to be awake, he slid off the chair. "Hey, dude. How you feelin'?" he asked as he climbed up onto the bed, sitting at the foot.

Mr. Marsh interjected. "We'll leave you boys talk for a bit. Don't worry, we'll be right back. I just want to go check out the cafeteria. I hear they have a big screen TV!"

Sharon appeared somewhat irritated.

"Y—yeah, whatever," Kenny muttered, pushing the charred hair out of his face.

Something just felt... wrong. As Stan's parents left the room, Kenny looked back to Kyle. "I'm okay. But what about..."

Kyle nodded to the other bed in the room. Under the covers, head almost completely bandaged, was a boy about his age, judging by his size. It must have been Stan. Thank God. "He's fine," Kyle said. "Hit his head pretty hard, but his mom found you both. She said she just had this... instinct. Like something was wrong. So she came outside and there you both were... If they hadn't gotten you here, you would have died. You weren't even breathing, dude. It was sweet. What's it like to come back from the dead?"

Kenny rolled his eyes. If only they knew.

"Anyway, I still think it's pretty cool. I'm gonna tell everyone in school you're okay. They'll be really glad to hear." He paused, looking up at the hospital room's clock. "Damn, dude, speaking of, I better go get ready. You guys were comaed out all night!" He hopped down off the bed, stretching. "I'll make sure I stop back later tonight, all right?"

"Yeah—" Kenny fought for words, but his mind still felt all fuzzy. "Yeah, we'll be here." He leaned back against his pillow, closing his eyes as Kyle's footsteps receded. After a few minutes had passed, he couldn't stand it anymore. Despite the pain, he slid down off his bed, grabbed the IV stand, and pulled it over toward Stan's bed. He had to make sure the other boy was okay too.

"Hh. Jesus," he muttered. Each step felt like fire. Dimly, in his fuzzy memory, he could remember another time he'd been zapped like this, but it had been remarkably painless. Maybe that was just luck, and this time illustrated the cold reality that getting struck by lightning fucking hurt. This was how most people reacted, after all. There were stories in the news of the victims being thrown hundreds of feet, their shoes blown off their feet in the opposite direction. That's what he felt like now; pausing, he leaned against the IV stand, using it as a crutch. Why did Stan's bed seem like it was miles away?

When he finally made it, he still had his work cut out for him. Kenny was used to the pain, though, and he pushed through it. Climbing up onto the bed was a bit of a struggle with his sore limbs, but eventually, he was able to do so, and pulled the blanket down from his friend's face.

He wasn't sure exactly what he expected, but he certainly didn't anticipate the... condition... Stan was in. At first, he even wondered if he was still dreaming. Kenny touched his own face, rolled his eyes upward to look, and then reached for his own hair... The 'blackened ends' weren't burnt at all, because his hair was now actually black.

Because it wasn't his. It was Stan's. Stan's hair was on his head.

Mouth agape, he looked back down at what appeared to be his own face, lying in the bed. It was bandaged, with a few bits of dirty-blond hair poking through here and there. "Holy ... holy shit..." He swore. Still dumbfounded, he reached forward toward the face lying in the bed, brushing the blond hair away from the closed eyes. The boy lying there stirred, but didn't immediately wake. Despite the fact that there wasn't a whole lot that could spook Kenny, seeing his face on someone else was quite high on that short list. Normally, he wouldn't have pulled someone's eyelids open as he did at that moment, but he had to see – he had to know for certain. The ocean-blue eyes that slowly contracted as the light hit them were supposed to be his. But they weren't. "What the—"

The boy in the bed gave Kenny a shove, though it was weak. Following the motion, he grunted in pain, blinking as he awoke. Was this—"Stan?" Kenny asked.

As he awakened, he seemed frustrated by the bandages that criss-crossed his face, and pulled them away like one would remove a mask. As he did so, Stan's eyes focused, and, inevitably, his gaze fell upon Kenny.

It must have been disconcerting to wake up after a painful accident and see your own face staring back at you. Stan was suddenly wide-eyed and staring. "What—" he started. One hand went to his throat, because, of course, his voice was notably higher than it had previously been. Unlike Kenny, who thought it logical that his voice would sound lower and rustier after being struck by lightning, Stan probably felt that it was weird that his voice would sound higher. He patted it a couple times, trying again with the same word and, of course, getting exactly the same result.

Stan blinked, pushing himself painfully upright into a sitting position. Kenny reached for one of his shoulders, unsure of what the hell he was going to do to calm his friend down, since he was somewhat lost at the moment, and, arguably, equally as panicked.

"Am I—I mean, is this—" Stan's eyes darted around the room, before finally settling on Kenny again. "...Some sort of ... out of body experience, and I'm dead."

Kenny shook his head, opening his mouth to explain...

"Stanley!"

"Huh?" Stan said. A moment later, Kenny realized he was supposed to be Stan at the moment, and turned to guiltily look back at the returning Marshes.

"Get back in bed!" Mrs. Marsh stated, her voice managing to contain both anger and worry at the same time. "Here, let me help you." She approached the bed, arms held out as if to pick Kenny up, when she noticed that the other patient in the room was awake. Perhaps she had enough decorum to not drag her 'son' back to his bed when his friend was awake, or maybe she just felt like they needed each other at the moment. At any rate, Kenny managed to remain sitting next to Stan for the time being.

"How do you feel, Kenny?" Mr. Marsh asked.

Stan didn't reply, so Kenny gave his shoulder a little nudge.

"Huh?" Stan responded. Again.

It was weird, watching realization dawn across someone's face, but Kenny got to experience the entire show with a front-row seat. Initially, Stan's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and then there was a very brief second of a surprised horror when he understood their situation. He met Kenny's eyes, and then looked back to his parents. Stan had always been rather level-headed, and although the combination of being hit by lightning and waking up to find his face on someone else was jarring, he adapted. At least he had an excuse for being jittery. "I'm. Uh. I'm fine, just..." He looked back at Kenny. "Wow. Uh—Fine, just really... tired."

"Well, you hit your head," his father replied.

Despite the fact that Stan's parents did have every right to be here, Kenny really wanted to talk to Stan without any interruptions. "Look, you guys are tired. Why don't you go home and get some sleep and... You can come back a little later. Kyle said you'd been here all night."

"He's right," Randy said. "I could use some sleep, Sharon."

Stan's mother sighed, considering. "Come on, Stan, let's get you back to bed."

Kenny allowed himself to be helped down from Stan's bed. In all sincerity, he was appreciative of the help, since moving hurt so much at the moment. Stan's mother picked him up and made sure he was securely tucked into his own hospital bed. "You're right, Stan, we have been here all night." She sat down on the bed, running her fingers through his hair. It was an uncomfortable moment, not because he didn't want the attention, but because he just wasn't used to it. It made him wonder where his own parents were. As if reading his mind, Mrs. Marsh answered that for him. "Kenny's mom and dad left about an hour ago. I'm sure they'll be back, you know, if they aren't too drunk to find the hospital."

He couldn't help a "Hey!" even if he was supposed to be Stan. It was all he could muster, though, since Stan's mom was probably right. They were probably already halfway to a buzz, knowing them. It made the closeness with a mother that actually cared all the more bittersweet. This wasn't his to have, and yet here he was, enjoying the attention of someone who cared.

Kenny glanced at Stan. His head was slightly tilted as he watched this exchange. "It's okay..." Kenny hesitated before adding, "Mom. Get... get some sleep. I'll see you later."

She kissed him on the forehead. He tried not to shrink back from it, but he was unused to the closeness. As Stan's mother turned around to chastise Mr. Marsh for being so impatient, they both exited the hospital room, leaving the two boys alone with the sounds of machines and beeps and some other patient's TV somewhere down the hall. It was a long time before Stan broke the silence.

"Whoa, dude."

"Yeah. I know," Kenny replied. He glanced over at Stan, who was staring cross-eyed at a shock of blonde hair that he held out from his head.

"I just remember walking up to your house, and then this... jolt. I don't know what happened, but I think I passed out..." Stan released his hair and settled back down, staring instead at his hands, which he turned over a couple times. He looked awful. Streaks of red ran across his face, his eyes were heavily shadowed and sunken, and some of his currently-blond hair actually was singed. His hands were equally reddened, and each had been bandaged at the fingertips. The energy had to go somewhere; Kenny knew all too well what electrocution did to a person, and it wasn't pretty. Of course, he normally died from it.

"I got hit by lightning," Kenny explained. "You must have been close enough to absorb the shock. That's probably why we're both alive instead of six feet under." He was glad he'd been hit first, at least. Maybe it was because of his stubborn ability to not die that they were BOTH alive right now. If Stan had been hit... Shuddering, he closed his eyes and leaned back. "You really dodged a bullet, Stan."

"Huh?" he asked again. Kenny waved him off. Eventually, Stan added, "So how does being hit by lightning cause two people to switch bodies? It shouldn't be possible."

Kenny could easily think of a hundred things that shouldn't be possible, but happened anyway, all right here in the Park County area. Somehow, though, he had to agree with Stan. Their minds had ended up in the wrong person, with no logical explanation as to how. Already, Kenny was starting to wonder if his origins had anything to do with this. After all, he had a somewhat unique soul, to put his ability into a more simplified term. No matter how many times he died, he always came back.

"You're totally zoned out right now, aren't you, dude?" Stan asked.

Drawn out of his thoughts, Kenny looked over at the other boy, who had a half smile on his face. "Yeah. A bit. Look, We'll figure this out. Just as soon as I get over how fucking weird it is."

"I hear that," Stan muttered, leaning back and closing his eyes.

* * *

Discussing things in a bustling hospital was, unsurprisingly, not easy. Once the personnel knew that the boys were awake and trying to get out of bed, they had the room under fairly regular surveillance. Doctors and nurses came in and out several times an hour. If they weren't attending to Stan, they were taking Kenny's blood pressure, or vice-versa. The only conversation either of them could really manage was the occasional meaningful glance exchanged between them, which signified a promise to chat as soon as they were given the smallest amount of time to do so.

But time was something neither of them ever got.

Kyle returned to the hospital for a visit the first afternoon, along with Cartman, who really only seemed interested in telling Kenny how damn poor he was, and that the fates were aligning in order to eliminate the youngest McCormick child in order to bring the rest of the family above the poverty line. This was all said to Stan, of course, while Kenny silently seethed in the other bed, even as Kyle tried to cheer him up.

Butters came by later, with hand-drawn cards for each of them. The next day, Craig and Clyde stopped by, and apologized for Tweek, who couldn't make it since he wasn't allowed near any sensitive equipment that he could potentially break. Wendy also came by to see Stan, which was an extremely awkward moment which both Kenny and Stan swore to never speak of again.

Interspersed among all these visits were various blood tests, x-rays, MRIs, and, of course, the constant vigilance of their parents, who would inevitably show up just as soon as there was a lull long enough where they would have been able to chat.

Despite the normal seriousness of the injury, neither of the boys were so badly hurt that they needed a lot of time in the hospital. The doctors surmised that since the shock was absorbed by both of them plus the metal rail of the tracks, the results were a lot less severe than they could have been. Even though it was Kenny who was struck, Stan suffered the worst of the pain, which, he'd commented earlier, seemed surprisingly easy to deal with. On the other hand, Kenny felt like a whiny little bitch in comparison. Once the initial shock was over and his injuries became his main concern, he really started to resent the fact that Stan had the better portion of his tolerance to pain at the moment.

The prognosis for each was good. And aside from some minor internal bleeding and surface bruising, both were released with the stipulation that should anything seem out of the ordinary, they were to be brought right back to the hospital for a follow-up check. It was actually the first time in recent memory that Kenny could recall leaving a hospital alive.

In the back seat of Randy Marsh's car, the boys looked at each other nervously. They had no plan of attack or even the vaguest of ideas as to how they were going to handle their upside-down lives. Clearly they didn't want to be each other. Kenny couldn't handle Stan's mother's doting... He knew that, in their own way, his OWN parents loved him, and he was used to that sort of minimal attention. On the other hand, he knew that Stan would be unused to the McCormick's hands-off way of raising their children. As for school...

"Ooh, I LOVE this song!" Mr. Marsh stated, turning up the volume on the radio, and singing along – badly – with Cher.

Taking the opportunity, Stan leaned closer to Kenny. "How're you doing?"

"Fucking nervous," Kenny replied. "You're gonna have it easy. My parents usually just ignore me, so all you have to do is exist to fool them."

"Dude, relax." Stan reached back, pulling the hood up on the orange parka. He looked at it somewhat disdainfully... The McCormicks wouldn't be able to actually afford to buy their son a new coat until they received their welfare check, and so the burnt and torn parka that had actually survived a lightning strike was now patched. Badly. "Don't swear at the dinner table, do your homework, and stay out of Shelley's way. You'll be fine. I'm not sure how you think I'm gonna have it easy. I mean, I'm used to a whole... you know. Dinner. And video games, and—"

"Yes! I do believe in life after love!" Mr. Marsh sang.

"How am I going to get along with HIM?" Kenny whispered, nodding toward the driver's seat.

Stan bit his lip before pulling the strings tighter on his hood. It effectively hid his face completely. "He's harmless. Usually. If he tries to take over the world again, just call me."

It took Kenny a moment to figure out what Stan had said, since he was used to speaking through the parka, not listening to what was said by its occupant. "Take over the world?"

Stan shrugged.

Kenny leaned forward, tapping Mr. Marsh on the shoulder. "Uh... hey, can I stay at Kenny's house for awhile?" He wasn't sure he was ready to deal with Stan's parents just yet. Given his previously carefree existence, where he really did whatever he wanted and had little structure provided by his parents, he just didn't feel comfortable diving in headfirst.

Stan must have felt the same way. He leaned forward, too, and his voice, muffled through the parka, added, "Yeah, me and Stan can catch up on the homework we missed."

Randy stopped singing, taking a second to look back over his shoulder. "Well, as long as you two take it easy, I don't see the harm. Just make sure you're home before bed time, Stan."

"Okay," Stan replied. Kenny elbowed him.

"Sure, whatever," Kenny said.

A few minutes later, they were at the McCormick house, and Stan and Kenny got out of the car. As Randy's car drove away, Kenny looked up at his own home. It felt good to be back here, but he could understand why Stan would be so reluctant to spend any time here at all. The roof leaked. There would be nothing but frozen waffles or pop tarts for every meal. The only video games in the whole house were extremely dated and boring. And on top of everything else, he'd have to witness the rather brutal fights Kenny's parents had on an almost nightly basis.

"Home sweet home," Kenny muttered. Stan grunted something in reply as they headed in.

* * *

It was a cold spring morning in Colorado as Kyle Broflovski stepped off the bus and carefully headed up an ice-covered walkway into school. The temperature had once again dipped below freezing the night before, just in time for a storm to coat every fucking thing in their little town in a thin sheet of ice. Sure, the denizens of South Park were more than used to it, but most of them often wondered why they all didn't just pick up and move somewhere warmer.

It was freaking April, for crying out loud.

"Hey, Stan," Kyle said as his best friend meandered past his locker. He couldn't help thinking that Stan seemed just a bit confused, especially since there was no response at all to the greeting. Without responding, the other boy almost aimlessly turned the dial on his locker without ever managing to open it.

"Stan."

Blinking, Stan finally looked up. "Oh. Hey. Hey, Kyle."

"You all right, dude? Are you ready to be back here? I mean, I don't think anyone would fault you if you and Kenny took another day." He paused, looking over Stan's arm at the combination he was attempting. "Not to sound dickish, but... You can't even remember the combination to your own locker."

"Yeah, no, I know it. I just... Focusing is..." He blinked down at the dial, briefly looking back over his shoulder, not at Kyle, but at Kenny, across the hall. "Numbers. Numbers, man. They all kind of look the same." He gave the locker a pointless shove, before rubbing his face.

"Here, I got it." Kyle gently guided Stan off to one side.

"You know my combination?"

"Well, yeah. You and I exchanged combinations at the beginning of the year. You know, in case something like this happened, and one of us was out of school for half a week." Pausing midway through entering the numbers, Kyle narrowed his eyes at his best friend. Maybe he should skip this and go tell the nurse that he didn't think Stan should be in school at all. Maybe Kenny was having the same issues. Before he could make the decision, though, Stan pointed to his locker.

"Right, yeah. Damn, I'm forgetting everything. Could you...?"

Kyle couldn't fault Stan for the forgetfulness, since he'd been struck by lightning a few days ago. It was a little worrying, but apparently his parents thought he'd be all right to leave the house like this. "Sure, man. Hang on a second."

As he entered in the numbers, Stan watched over his shoulder. "It's just that... they say unimportant stuff like this is the first ...stuff to go when you forget... stuff."

"That's what they say, huh?"

"Uh-huh. That's what they say."

When the locker was opened, Stan muttered a quick thank you before digging through his very unorganized pile of crap and pulling out the books he'd need for his first few hours. "Thanks, man. I'll see you in a few," was his only farewell as he turned his back and headed for class.

Left confused, Kyle turned to fish his own things out of his locker, even though his mind was on other things. He could anticipate some strangeness, but within their exchange was a certain standoffishness that he'd never expect from Stan. He liked to think that he really knew the other boy, considering they'd been friends since they were babies, and yet, he was reluctant to judge his actions as being out of the ordinary. As a diabetic, Kyle was sometimes prone to certain illnesses, and he knew that when he was in pain, he could be a bear to deal with. That must have been it – Stan was just in pain, and didn't feel like talking. Even so, something just didn't feel right.

His locker snapped shut behind him, which cause Kyle to jump. Cartman stood there, hand still on the locker door, scowling. "Dude," he said, speaking conspiratorially. "Dude, I told the best joke today to Clyde and Kenny, and Kenny said, 'shut up, Fatass.'"

"That's because you're a fatass," Kyle pointed out. He rubbed his temple, trying to get his racing heart back under control.

"God dammit, Kyle."

"No, I know what you mean. Stan's acting weird, too." He shook his head, waving a hand. "This has got to be from the whole lightning thing. They're probably pissed off that they have to be back in school. I would be too. I mean, come on, they had like a billion volts of electricity running through their bodies and now they have to learn? Not cool." After a moment, he added, "And then, Kenny comes back and has to deal with your stupid lame-ass jokes. I'd be in a bad mood, too."

"Kyle, I swear to GOD, I'll beat the shit out of you—"

Rolling his eyes at the threat to which Cartman would never be able to follow through, Kyle made sure he had all of his books and started toward Garrison's class. "We just have to give them a little space. They'll be fine. It's just... you know."

Cartman grunted something in reply.

As the bell rang, Kyle slid into his seat. Next to him, Stan still looked out of it, as he shuffled through papers that seemed foreign to him. Now that he really thought about it, he certainly knew how his best friend reacted when he was sick or in pain. Hell, with all the sports Stan played, he always ended up in some sort of accident, or with some kind of sprain or bruise or whatever, and this was just ... completely different. Then again, how could anyone really anticipate the effects being struck by fucking lightning would have on someone?

"All right, class," Mister Garrison droned, starting to write something up on the board. "We have a lot to cover today, so try to keep up. Now, we're going to start with our history lesson right where we left off – in the Civil War. Now, you'll remember we were discussing slavery in America..."

As their teacher droned on, Kyle glanced around the room. Given the fact that Garrison was somewhat of an ass when it came to various subjects in school, it was no surprised that Token shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he looked down at his book. Most everyone else looked bored. Clyde was passing a note to Bebe, Kevin and Leroy were looking through a Star Wars comic, and Kenny was taking notes on the lesson.

Kenny was taking notes on the lesson.

He elbowed Stan, about to point this out, when he saw that Stan was drawing naked women in the margins of his notebook.

What the hell?

"And that led to the attack on Pearl Harbor in the year 1974," Mister Garrison went on. "Which was preceded immediately by—"

"Stan, what the hell are you doing?" Kyle whispered.

Stan covered up his doodles. "Just... taking notes."

"Those weren't notes, dude."

"Mature notes."

Flipping the page over in his notebook, Stan drummed his pencil on the paper as the lesson continued. Though he wasn't taking notes, he was no longer drawing, either; and moreover, Kenny had stopped writing anything at all.

"And then," Mister Garrison went on, "A group of sex-deprived women created General Hospital, which is one of the longest running soap operas on television. So you see, children, the Civil War ultimately led to the degeneration of American Television into mostly unrehearsed trash where relationships change on an almost daily basis. And despite the fact that everyone gets laid all the time, no one is ever happy."

For several long seconds, everyone in the classroom was of one mind: What the hell was Garrison on about this time?

Then, Stan raised his hand. "Mister Garrison. If they were all so unhappy all the time, why didn't they all just get into a huge pile and start humping each other? I mean, they all wanted to do each other anyway. It would have fixed a lot of issues."

The reaction was immediate. Most of the class dissolved into laughter, some at the surprise that it was Stan who would bring up such a thing. And as Stan was looking proud of himself for the comment, and Mister Garrison was at a loss for words, Kenny kicked his chair. Hard.

Kyle looked back over his shoulder to see Kenny pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Jesus. Fuck," Stan muttered, sinking down into his chair.

Kyle couldn't believe that he and Cartman were actually sort of thinking along the same lines here. Their eyes met, and while Cartman was wearing a stupid grin on his face from Stan's outburst, it was clear, too, that the fat tub of lard also realized that something wasn't quite right with Stan and Kenny. In fact, Kyle was starting to allow his mind to wander into the realm of the supernatural, even if he prided himself on being one of the most grounded of all their friends. The lightning strike had done far more to their companions than shock them.

Kyle actually started to believe that neither of them were who they appeared to be.

"...Stan, I think you need to go see the counselor immediately," Mister Garrison stated, concealing some concern within his irritation.

Stan slid out of his seat, mumbling something like a "Sure, yeah," as he slunk toward the classroom door.

The early morning classes eventually gave way to recess. Unsurprisingly, Stan wasn't out on the playground, and when Kenny noticed this, he headed back inside the school to see what was going on. Some of the other kids were already commenting on how awesome Stan's comment had been earlier, and, truth be told, had it been heard by someone who hadn't known him forever, it really would have been awesome. That's why no one else realized anything was wrong.

Kyle didn't even want to vocalize what he was thinking, because he prided himself on being the most down-to-earth out of any of them. He didn't accept the supernatural, even if it happened around him every single day, because to accept it – to allow himself to believe that the world wasn't as cut and dry as he wanted it to be – would have been accepting that there were things beyond his own physical control. As always, though, when things went too far, he had to make himself believe that maybe there was a power at work here that couldn't be explained by simple logic.

"Cartman."

"What's up, Jew?" Cartman asked offhandedly.

"I want to follow Stan and Kenny home after school. You in?"

For once, he didn't argue. Sure, there was a moment of consideration clearly written across his face. Perhaps he was trying to come up with some lame disagreement. In the end, his answer was a simple "Totally."

And so it was settled.

* * *

"Well, that was the day from hell," Stan muttered as he and Kenny headed back to Kenny's house. "Excellent work, by the way. The idea of a soap opera orgy was classic McCormick."

"Look, I'm sorry," Kenny replied, at least having the decency to be somewhat mortified by the entire experience. "I couldn't help it. It came up and—It was like a once in a lifetime chance. I just had to go for it, you know? The opening was there. Garrison just... Look, I had to say something."

"You also drew boobs in my notebook," Stan added. "I know Kyle knows what's going on. He figured it out like, five minutes into the day. He knows us, dude. We might as well just tell him."

"C'mon, man. We better check on the plants first. We're already days behind." Kenny looked at Stan, whose face was still streaked with faint red lines. It reminded him that there were probably a few things that Stan should know.

He pulled on the side door to the garage. It stuck, but when he pulled harder, the entire thing came off its hinges. Grunting, Kenny let it fall to the ground. He'd have to have Stan tell his father that it fell off again, so the plants didn't get too frostbitten.

Stan was first into the garage, pulling back his hood. "Looks like all of them made it. Guess we should water them..." He pulled back the plastic over them that served as a greenhouse, but Kenny grabbed his hood and pulled him back.

"Look, there's something I need to tell you first," he said. "You remember that time we were all in Cartman's basement and I told you I had a super power?"

Stan chuckled.

"C'mon, dude. I'm serious." Kenny crossed his arms.

Stan looked back at him with an odd expression on his face, before running his hands through his hair. "This is so weird. It's like looking in a god damned mirror. I mean, I can't even look in a real mirror yet, you know, Because... Because I think that'd just make me freak out for real." He climbed up onto a stool that had one leg taped back on. "What're we gonna do?"

"I think you should let me talk to you about—"

Stan waved him off. "I'd remember if you died, dude. It's kind of a big deal!"

A long time ago, this flippant attitude toward the whole dying and rebirth cycle didn't bother Kenny. As he got older, though, and as the deaths happened more and more often, he just wanted someone in the world to realize that he did, indeed, die a lot. It was painful. It was mentally traumatizing. And the scariest part is that he was personally becoming numb to the whole thing, which made him wonder if he'd eventually become numb to everything that happened to him in life, too. Or maybe he'd start to resent life, and he'd destroy everything in the world like Cthulhu tried to do!

Hey. They were legitimate concerns.

"Let's just say, hypothetically, that I was telling the truth," Kenny said through his teeth. He wanted to grab the collar of Stan's patched parka and shake him until he listened. Thankfully, he had a little self-control. "I don't know if it'll happen to ME because my soul is in your body, or if it'll happen to you because you're me at the moment!"

Suddenly concerned, Stan hopped down from his seat and put a hand on Kenny's shoulder. "You really believe that this happens to you, don't you?" After a pause, he added, "Why wouldn't I remember? I mean, me and Kyle and Cartman are your best friends. We're around you all the time. We'd—"

Kenny shook his head. "You guys do, kinda. Sub-consciously or something. You get into this... repetition. I've heard it a couple times when it's happened. You yell about how 'they' killed me, Kyle yells about how 'they' are bastards, and then the next day, you both act like nothing happened. That it's not weird at all that I'm okay."

Stan scratched his chin, obviously puzzled.

"Look, you guys really don't remember when I was sick and in the hospital with a terminal muscle disease?" Kenny turned to face Stan, putting his hands on the other boy's shoulders, and looking at his own face. Just like looking into a mirror, indeed. "I was really sick. I died. You wouldn't come and see me. Remember?"

There must have been some sort of recollection there, because Stan suddenly seemed uncomfortable. "Wh—I remember you being in the hospital, but I don't... There's... They released you. I'm sure they did."

Kenny sighed. He knew he couldn't make Stan get it if there was something out of his power blocking the memories. It just seemed so obvious, so easy to understand. How could it be possible that someone could forget death? Painful death... GRAPHIC death? "Okay, look..." he started to explain, when he was interrupted.

From just outside the garage, someone said, "What the fuck are they talking about?"

The voice was familiar, because it was Cartman's. Standing just next to him, expression almost blank, was Kyle. When Kenny narrowed his eyes, they suddenly seemed to feel the guilt of eavesdropping on someone's conversation and looked away, though Cartman still stated, with obviousness, "Damn. We've been spotted."

"That's because you couldn't keep your mouth shut, fatass!" Kyle replied.

There was silence among them after that, where no one seemed inclined to move or speak. Kyle and Cartman remained outside the garage, while Kenny and Stan sat inside. The proverbial ice seemed to break little by little as their eyes became more willing to meet; At first, Kyle glanced between Stan and Kenny, until his eyes finally rested on the former. Within them, Kenny could see the recognition – the familiarity and concern one would reserve for their closest friend. Along with that, there was confusion and hurt – why hadn't anyone told Kyle sooner?

"Damn it," Stan muttered.

Cartman invited himself into the garage. "Don't know what the hell kind of game you two are playing, but it's kind of weird."

"No, wait a second, Cartman," Kyle said, following his rather large friend into the garage. "Everything was just... off... All day. I mean, with what Stan was saying in class, and... And Kenny taking notes. NOTES. You guys must have known that we'd figure it out. We're friends, guys. We've known each other for forever, like... Like a hundred years." With hesitation, Kyle approached the black-haired boy who appeared to be Stan, and met his eyes. "...You're Kenny. Aren't you?"

With a long-suffering sigh, Kenny replied, "Fuck."

Cartman was catching on. "Oh my god, you guys. You guys! No way!" He ran up to 'Kenny,' grabbed the boy's head, and yelled into his ear, "STAN! ARE YOU IN THERE?"

Stan gave Cartman a shove. "Knock it off. Look, you guys can't go telling everyone, okay? We've got to figure this out ourselves. I mean, if our parents knew, it'd just complicate everything."

"We could charge money! We could have our very own freak show, you guys—" Cartman started, then suddenly stopped when Kenny kicked him right between the legs. He doubled over, ending his tirade with something that sounded vaguely like "Screw you, Kenny."

"So you guys woke up like this?" Kyle asked. "Why didn't you just tell us?" When Kenny pointed to Cartman, who was still writhing on the floor of the garage, muttering various curses, Kyle amended: "Why didn't you just tell ME?"

Stan sighed. "Kenny and I were just gonna try to figure it out ourselves, dude. Besides, we didn't want Cartman in on it."

"I was hoping it'd wear off," Kenny added.

Cartman climbed slowly to his feet, leaning on one of the plant tables. "Right, you guys. I'm ... I'm seriously. Your secret's safe. Mostly because I haven't figured out how to get people to believe me yet. But—But when I do—Jesus. God. My BALLS."

He doubled over again, staggering into one of the tables. A couple plants slid onto the floor.

"What are you guys doing here, anyway?" Kenny asked, scowling. Picking up the plants, he scooped dirt back into the pots.

"What do you think we're doing here?" Kyle asked. "You guys were acting so weird. I mean, you could have at least TRIED to act like each other if you didn't want us to figure it out. We're you're friends, dudes. Five minutes into the day I totally knew something wasn't right."

Smugly, Stan noted, "See? Told you."

The beginnings of another storm were brewing outside. The wind was picking up, causing the old garage to creak loudly in protest. Kenny glanced toward the door as the first few raindrops started falling. He wished he could put the door back on so they'd all at least stay dry. Considering, he pushed the door upward until it was leaning on the frame, which took care of most of the rain. It still let the cold wind in, though. Granted, the boarded up car door also let a good deal of rain and wind in, so the gesture – although done with good intentions – did very little to alleviate the chill of the weather. Glancing at Stan, he suddenly got the feeling that maybe they shouldn't be in the garage...

"What's it like to be poor, Stan?" Cartman asked. Everyone ignored him.

"What's it like to be in the wrong body?" Kyle asked.

Stan was the first to answer. "Weird, I guess. We're just kind of... uh. Dealing." He ducked under the plastic and started turning the plants so that they'd get a little sun on their other sides. There was only one unboarded window in the garage, after all, so they had to make sure their plants got enough light. "Everything's different, but we're getting used to it."

"Yeah," Kenny agreed. "Hey, you guys want to go into the house? It's starting to get cold in here."

"Can't we go to Stan's house?" Cartman asked. "He doesn't have rats crawling around on his floor!" Despite his protests, he started to head toward the door, pushing his way out through the sliver Kenny had left for just such a purpose. Perhaps the groaning of the old structure was worrying him, as well. Kyle followed after.

Kenny could see it coming. He could feel his hair practically standing on end. It wasn't foresight... more like a distinct sense of history repeating, which he'd felt before on countless occasions. Conditions were perfect for catastrophe, and all the signs were there. "Stan—"

"I'll catch up in a sec," Stan said. "Might as well finish turning these plants."

The garage creaked again, almost appearing to rock on its foundation as the planks that barely held it together started to splinter and crack. Despite the howling wind, the shattering of the old structure thundered loudly around them, and Stan, suddenly more concerned for his safety, gazed around with a newly realized fear. "...Maybe I'll turn these later..."

Slowly, he backed away from the table, as if moving too quickly would bring the building down on him. Kenny pushed Kyle and Cartman back, though they were already retreating on their own. With urgency, Kenny shouted, "Stan. Run. NOW."

As Stan's pace quickened, a crack like a whip split the air. Both he and Kenny saw the beam; there was a single moment where their eyes met, where the doomed boy realized that all his friend had said was entirely truthful, before the sharp plank found its way through Stan's belly.

Kenny had never witnessed one of his best friends dying, and, of course, he hoped – previous to this moment – that he'd never have to. He could bear the brunt of that burden, even if he hated it sometimes. He liked to think that maybe his constant deaths and resurrections somehow protected the others from the craziness that was their lives. Now, he stood there, staring at the horrified, pleading look on Stan's face as the light faded from his eyes.

A moment later, the garage collapsed around him.

"Man, that sucks, dude. You're going to have to start your project over," Cartman said.

* * *

It was difficult to keep Kyle from running into the wreckage to dig Stan out. Kenny held him back, and Cartman, who'd never seen Kyle so god-damned frantic before, actually helped. As Kenny held Kyle's arms, calmly whispering that Stan was, indeed, dead – and that he'd seen said death happen – Cartman used his bulk to their advantage and blocked Kyle's view of the garage.

The fire department arrived quickly. By that time, Kyle had calmed down enough to become angry at Kenny for various reasons, namely that he'd have to look into Stan's face every day now, knowing that his best friend was actually dead. Kenny bore all this rather stoically, knowing – hoping, really – that tomorrow, everything would be okay, and that this whole thing would be forgotten by all. Of course, at the moment, It WAS just a strong hope, as with the current situation, it was hard to be absolutely sure that Stan would be okay.

There was a gathering in the McCormick's front yard. Everyone comforted Kenny's parents. Everyone tried to make them feel okay. That was almost the most difficult thing to witness, knowing his mother, father, and older brother were in so much pain. He couldn't stand to see it anymore.

Kenny eventually just walked home to the Marsh's in the cold rain. Stan's parents were still at the McCormick's; Sharon offered to make dinner for them as someone called the coroner. It was all kind of surreal, because this must have happened so many times in the past. With plans being made quickly, how did everyone just drop the tragedy from their memories? Were records altered along with peoples' memories? They must have been. No one had ever come up to him and mentioned such things.

Hardest of all was the fact that when Kenny closed his eyes, it wasn't his own face he saw in the throes of death, but Stan's.

He made his way up to Stan's bedroom, pausing only to look in the dresser mirror. His eyes were puffy and red, indicating that he'd been crying, even if he couldn't remember it. Did he really make his friends this upset every time he died? No, they must have gotten used to it by now. Like he told Stan, there was some sort of subconscious memory that they all shared. On some level, they all knew, even if they claimed they didn't.

Tomorrow, he'd have to help Stan through this. For now, all he wanted to do was lie down for awhile, close his eyes...

It was seven o'clock in the morning before his dreams were filled with earthquakes, which lasted momentarily before he realized that he wasn't experiencing earthquakes at all, but was, instead, being violently shaken awake. In the relative darkness of the early morning hours, he could make out his own face, staring down at him in abject terror.

As soon as Stan realized that Kenny was awake, he stumbled away from the bed, clumsily reaching for the floor as if it were something unobtainable. Eventually, through some feat of acrobatics and skill, he actually managed to sit down, with such a lack of grace that it would have been hard to do it on purpose.

"Fuck, dude, are you okay?" Kenny asked.

Stan compulsively gripped at his stomach, hands searching, eyes wide and shining in the pale light that permeated from the outside. "I broke in. To my own house. I don't even—Don't even remember how I got here. I—uh. I think I ran."

For the first time, Kenny noted that the boy in the orange parka was barefoot. He narrowed his eyes, rubbing one hand across them to banish the sleepiness. His half-awake brain couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, because obviously, Stan was agitated, but there didn't seem to be any reason for it. "Stan, what happened? What's wrong?"

"What? What do you mean?"

Kenny transferred himself from the relative warmth of the bed to the floor. Reaching out a hand, he placed it on Stan's shoulder. His friend was shaking like a leaf; every now and then, he'd tremble violently, stop for a few seconds, and then repeat. When Kenny didn't respond immediately, Stan turned dark blue eyes to him, realization dawning. "The garage."

Kenny rubbed the back of his head, sitting up, trying to figure out what Stan was going on about. The garage had collapsed, yes. But they were all outside. Weren't they? He could recall other times when HE had died that the others asked why he'd run away, or why he'd gone home early. In this case, Kenny could very clearly picture Stan outside of the garage WITH them...

Blinking, suddenly realizing, Kenny exclaimed, "Holy shit, dude. I can't ... I can't remember!"

"But you were there! You saw it! You have to believe me. I really, REALLY need help right now."

"Hey, it's okay, man. I'm here." He hadn't ever experienced this from the other side. Of course he believed that it had happened, though; with Stan's obvious fear, it could have only been one thing. The problem was that some cosmic happenstance had erased Kenny's memory of the whole thing. He honestly couldn't recall the even at all, not even a little. "You remember when I told you that no one ever remembered?"

Stan nodded. "Yeah. I do. But..."

"But you were still in the garage," Kenny finished.

"We both saw it, Kenny. It just..." He paused to press his hands to his stomach again, just before another abrupt fit of trembling. Gagging, Stan threw up.

"Dude," Kenny muttered automatically.

Stan looked to be in the verge of tears. "How the fuck do you deal with something like that!? You... told me it's happened to you a lot. It hurt. I could feel myself dying, and then I ... I don't even know what I saw." He closed his eyes, fingers threading through uncombed blond hair. "What do you see when... when you die?"

Kenny grimaced, pulling Stan away from the mess on the floor. He cared, certainly, but he'd gone through this so many times himself in the past that it was hard to show a lot of emotion. It wasn't that he was indifferent to it, but he'd built a wall up about himself to shut out the bad stuff – fear, worry, uncertainty. "Usually? Hell," he responded. "Since God usually only lets Mormons into heaven."

"Yeah, that—huh?"

"It's true," Kenny said. "Sometimes I see heaven, sometimes it's just a limbo. It's really kind of random. It's cool, though. I'm on a first-name basis with Satan."

"Oh God..."

"Him, too." Reaching behind him, Kenny pulled Stan's blanket off the bed and draped it over his shoulders. "I'm sorry it happened. I'm sorry you died. We're gonna have to figure out a way to get us switched back before you get to be as messed up as I am."

"Messed up as you are?" Stan asked. He was still shaking, though he seemed more collected than he was just a few minutes before. Apparently, vomiting had helped alleviate the tension a little.

"The reason you guys were even my friends in the first place was 'cuz Cartman thought it was hilarious that I was so jumpy. That was back in pre-school," Kenny said. "And, I mean, eventually we all found out that we had stuff in common, but that's what started it all. I was a jittery toddler, and you all thought it was hilarious. Then there was this whole... span of time that I just couldn't take it anymore. I shut down. I thought I could hide under my coat and everything would be okay, you know? But it just kept happening."

"No. No, I can't..."

"I know you can't."

Now that Stan's initial outburst was over, he sat there, stoically, breathing deeply and trying desperately to get hold of his terror. Every now and then, though, he'd shake, teeth gritting together as he tried to banish the uncomfortable sensation. His eyes were watery, but he wasn't crying; by holding back, Stan just kind of looked angry. It wasn't hard for Kenny to forget what waking up post-death was like, even if he'd first experienced many, many years ago. Things like this stuck with a person for their entire lives, and this would affect Stan for a very, very long time.

Even though Kenny wasn't really the hugging type, he draped an arm over Stan's shoulder and pulled him closer. "It's gonna be okay. We're going to find out what's going on and fix things."

"How?"

"I have no idea." Kenny climbed back up onto the bed. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. I mean, that I know of. We could ask Mephisto. I'm sure he'd have a few things to say, and he might even be able to re-create what did this to us in the first place."

Stan shook his head, and, following that, the rest of him shook, too. He was still terrified, and, perhaps unwilling to be so far away from human contact, he followed Kenny up onto the bed. "All I want to know is why this happens to you? What'd you do to piss off God so much that he has to kill you all the time? I don't get it. And now it's going to happen to me, too, and I can't..."

He trailed off, taking a deep breath as he calmed himself. Kenny tried to explain. "It's not God. I don't think He has anything to do with it. My parents were in that cult before I was born, and... They don't remember what happened in it. They said they were drunk most of the time. All I know is that Cthulhu's what's called an Old One... he's immortal. Whatever my parents did when they were at those cult meetings, it made me immortal, too, except instead of being unable to die, I just... come back. Every time. I never stay dead, and death always seems to find me."

"Whoa, dude." Stan fidgeted with his hands, holding one, then the other, in order to stop them from shaking. His attempts were unsuccessful. "I'd say we should start there, except, you know, Bradley banished him back to... uh. Wherever he was from."

Kenny glared at Stan. "You want to... ask Cthulhu. You want to go to his realm, knock on his door, and ask Cthulhu how to switch us back."

"Well, yeah. We could go to Mephisto, but I'd rather only have one ass."

"That's a good point," Kenny mused. "So we're going to have to figure out how to get back to the Nightmare City R'lyeh."

Stan scowled. "Clearly, it's our only option."

"Clearly," Kenny agreed. "I guess we should call another meeting of Coon and Friends."

"Coon and friends?" Stan asked, emphasizing Cartman's alter ego. "Do we really need to call Cartman along, too?"

Kenny nodded. "Like it or not, Cartman was somehow able to tame Cthulhu. He really could come in handy."

Stan closed his eyes. "...Right. Tomorrow afternoon in Cartman's basement, then. I'll need some time to ... stop being such a basketcase." He placed one hand over the other and took a deep breath. Calming himself down wasn't going to be easy.


	2. Chapter 2

Kenny's bedroom was sparse when it came to furnishings and decor, and it smelled strongly of rat crap and beer. Even so, Stan sat on the bed, leaning against one wall, with his knees drawn up to his chest. Whatever the room was like, it was currently the safest place he could imagine being.

Without a knock, the door opened, which caused Stan to jump. Of course it wasn't anything that had come to murder him, though. It was just Kyle.

"Dude. I just got a call from Kenny? He said you needed me or something." He paused, tilting his head at Stan. "Uh. You don't look so good."

Despite the fact that he felt like throwing up, Stan managed a weak smile, both for Kyle and for the fact that Kenny thought to call him. Stan hadn't been planning on it, due to the hassle of explaining things, but now that Kyle was here, that became a non-issue. He couldn't maintain the smile for long, because just thinking of what had happened caused the shakes to return, and all he could manage to say was "I'm glad you're here."

Frowning, Kyle hopped up onto the bed, scooting back so he could lean against the wall next to Stan. After a moment and some consideration, he put a comforting hand on his best friend's shoulder. Neither of them said anything, but the silence felt comfortable, rather than awkward. Just the fact that Kyle was there made Stan feel a lot better and much less alone.

"This has gotta be hard for you, huh?" Kyle finally asked.

"It's not that."

Kyle nodded. "Yeah, I know." He took his hand off Stan's shoulder, and rested it across his own knee instead. "So, Ike flipped off my mom."

The statement was so out of left field that Stan actually chuckled. He could mentally picture the little kindergartener giving Mrs. Broflovski the middle finger, and the thought was soundly amusing. "...Yeah? How'd she react to that?"

"Well, it was like... He knew exactly what he was doing, right? I mean, she told him to go put his toys away last night and he was reading, like, Tolstoy or something, and—It was deliberate. He's four years old, man. I didn't even know what the middle finger was when I was four years old."

"Your little brother's a genius."

"Yeah. So now he's grounded. Except it's only for a couple days, 'cuz my mom doesn't really think he knows what it means. She thinks he saw it on TV and he's copying it." Kyle smirked. "They don't give him enough credit. So then I told Cartman and Ike's his hero now or something. You ever notice how Cartman likes Ike more than me?"

"Aw, come on," Stan started.

"Nah, it's true. I think it's 'cuz he's not Jewish by birth." Kyle pondered this for awhile, tilting his head back to lean it against the dirty wall. "Not that I care. Cartman's kind of an ass, anyway."

"Ike's also not a Daywalker," Stan added.

"You're saying 'Daywalker' now, too?"

Stan shrugged. "It's either that, or 'ginger.' And gingers are insane. Last time I checked, you're not insane."

"Yeah, but—"

"Red hair, man," Stan said with an apologetic smile. "And you do have a few freckles. You're like one step away."

Grumpy, Kyle crossed his arms. "Fine, fine. Whatever. You're probably right, anyway." After a moment, he asked, "So, are you feeling any better?"

"Kinda," Stan admitted. Talking about mundane, everyday bullshit was a lot better than discussing what had happened to him in Kenny's garage. It still wasn't entirely okay, and he wasn't sure it would be okay as long as he was still in Kenny's body.

"So, d'you want to go to my house and play video games or something?"

The idea of leaving the house and going anywhere frightened Stan to the point where he trembled again. Before he could answer, though, Kyle cut him off and stated, "Or I could go grab Monopoly and some popcorn. I can hang out here 'til we have to go over to Cartman's tomorrow."

Stan nodded. "Yeah, that'd be awesome," he said.

"Killer. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

* * *

The next day, the Coon Friends were all gathered in Cartman's basement. Despite having no power at the moment, Kenny had still become the mysterious Mysterion, while Stan had once again borrowed his father's power tools to become the amazing Toolshed, who could control power tools with his mind. This was a source of confusion until the others were told what had happened. Since they were all super heroes together, Stan and Kenny felt that they should know the odd situation in which they'd found themselves, as long as they promised not to tell anyone else. It was way more people than they'd originally intended to tell, but it was all done out of necessity.

"Where's Mint-Berry Crunch?" The Coon asked, scowling.

"He'll be here," Mosquito said. "I mean, don't forget, he's actually a super hero and all. Super heroes got, you know... commitments. Like saving the world."

"I want to start this meeting," The Coon muttered.

Mysterion narrowed his eyes. "You're only here because you know how to talk to Cthulhu. You better not fuck this up, Cartman."

From over in the corner, in an old dog cage, Professor Chaos asked, "Well, guys, why am I here?" and was summarily ignored.

"Shut up, Stan. Kenny. Whoever the hell you are now. This is Coon and FRIENDS. That means I'm in charge. You guys need me."

The sly smile that spread across the Coon's face made Kenny want to punch him. Unfortunately, he was right. Without Cartman, Kenny wasn't sure how they'd be able to speak with Cthulhu at all, especially given the fact that the ancient deity would be pretty pissed off that he'd been banished back to R'lyeh before he could subjugate and then destroy earth.

"We might need you," Mysterion said, "But there's a reason you're tied up, Coon."

The Coon raised his hands above the table, glaring at the cable that kept them tied together. "I hate you guys—"

"Sorry I'm late!" Mint-Berry Crunch said, coming down the stairs. "There was a fire in an orphanage in Romania! I had to put it out. And then I rebuilt it. Then I had to fly all the way back here!"

"You were just in Romania?" Toolshed asked, tilting his head at their former classmate.

"Well, yeah... Kenny?"

Stan shook his head. "Nah, that's why we're all here. Something made me and Kenny switch bodies. I'm Stan. That's Kenny." He pointed to Mysterion. "And we figure the only way to get us switched back is to go ask Cthulhu."

"And I think there's gotta be some other way," TupperWear muttered, putting his plastic-encased head down in his hands. "I mean, you remember that place. It was crazy. Monsters everywhere. If it wasn't for Mint-Berry Crunch, I don't think we woulda ever gotten out."

"Timmeh," Iron Maiden agreed.

Kenny glanced at Stan, who was still shaky from his recent death and resurrection. No one knew when it would happen again, either... And since they both knew that no one else would believe them – that no one else even remembered that Stan had been crushed under Kenny's garage – they left that part out. Neither of them were even really sure how to broach the subject; up until yesterday, Stan found the whole idea impossible. There just wasn't enough time to make the others understand. "Look," Mysterion said, standing. "None of you HAVE to go. This is volunteer only. In fact, some of you SHOULD stay, in case we all don't come back. You'll have to tell our parents what happened."

They all looked at each other. It was finally Kyle, the Human Kite, who said, "I think we're all in, dude. We're a team."

Mosquito nodded. "I'm not happy about it, but, uh. I signed up 'cuz Mysterion's right. This city's kind of going to hell. And if people are switching bodies now, what's next? I mean, I like my body. What if me and Scott Malkinson switch, huh?"

To a man, everyone shuddered.

"I'm in," TupperWear said. "Timmy?"

"Timmeh!"

"So you actually WANT to go back there?" Mint-Berry Crunch asked. "I can protect you, but only so much. There's creatures there that make my powers look lame!"

"They ARE lame!" The Coon interjected.

"Dude. Bradley. You fucking dragged Cthulhu back to R'lyeh by a tentacle," Human Kite said. "What are you afraid of?"

"Well, my powers come from THIS dimension, just like Cthulhu's come from his. He was actually significantly weaker here than he was in his home. If I go there..." Mint-Berry Crunch paused. "I've done some research since I've been gone. You guys were lucky to get out of there the first time. If we go back, I can't even really guarantee I'm going to be of much use. I have powers, but I'm not an Old One like he is. If I'm there too long, the barrier between dimensions might completely cut off my powers. We'd be trapped."

The silence among them lasted a long time. No one wanted to say what they all knew. Eventually, it was Mysterion who stated the horrible truth: "Then we're going to have to count on Cartman."

"Then untie me, you assholes," The Coon said, holding his hands out toward Toolshed. Toolshed frowned, looking at Mysterion, who nodded.

"This is serious, Cartman. If you team up with Cthulhu again and try to destroy the world, we're never letting you back into Coon and Friends again." As Toolshed unlocked the bindings that held their morally ambiguous teammate, he looked their captive in the eyes. Leaning closer, he added so that only Cartman could hear, "I need this to go right. I can't live like this."

Confused, The Coon stared at Toolshed. "Look, if it means that much to you, fine. But after we switch you two back, no guarantees. Deal?"

"Fine."

Professor Chaos tapped on the bars of his cage. "Hey, you – you guys. I got all dressed up so I could come over and—you know. Help. I can be a good guy... I could. See? I even brought my minions..." He produced two hamsters from his pockets, that were also dressed up in tinfoil. "Sometimes... uh. Sometimes you have to team up with the bad guys to do good, you know? We all want the same thing. Heck, Stan and Kenny are my friends, too!"

Mysterion looked back at the cage, then at the others. "I was originally planning to bring Chaos along. The fact is, Butters is pretty smart when it comes to computers."

"Yeah, he actually hacked into the Jumbo-Tron at Coors Field once," Human Kite said. "I didn't even know he could do that. It was pretty sweet."

"And he can do math problems in seconds. Like, really HARD math problems. But common SENSE, guys," The Coon muttered, leaning in. "He makes Paris Hilton look like a genius."

"It's a chance we'll have to take. Iron Maiden, let him out of the cage!" Mysterion pointed toward Professor Chaos, who smiled a genuine smile.

"Oh, goodie! This is gonna be fun, huh guys? We'll all be fighting for the ... the same thing!"

As Timmy let their former nemesis out of his prison, Mysterion leaned forward so that he could conspire with the others. "We're gonna have to get a copy of the Necronomicon. It talks about R'lyeh and the Old Ones. The Goth Kids have it. Stan and I will go over there and get it. The rest of you... get some rest. You'll need it, because you won't be able to sleep where we're going."

* * *

Stan stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror in Kenny's bathroom. It was the first time he'd really looked at himself since being struck by lightning. While the red blotches were gone, and while his hair was once again completely blond, there were now dark circles under his eyes. Unable to sleep since dying, he'd just become more and more exhausted. Granted, it had only been a couple days, but the time was wearing on him. "Can't believe Kenny's been living with this for years," he muttered to his reflection, splashing water on his face to wake himself up a bit. He lived in fear now, knowing that another death could come at any time.

"I mean, seriously. He's nine years old. How is that fair?" He hopped down from the sink and headed down the hallway to Kenny's bedroom. Suddenly, he had a lot more respect for his normally quiet friend. Suddenly, he understood why Kenny was so odd. All that pain.

And yet, when he entered Kenny's room, all he saw was himself, literally. Paging through a rather questionable magazine. It was something a normal nine-year-old would do, if he could. Hell, if Stan wasn't so afraid of what his parents would do if they found out he had such magazines, he'd probably have some of his own stashed away.

"Uh... Kenny?"

"Mm-hm?" Kenny flipped another page, turning the magazine on its side. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm a little better today. Not as shaky." Stan held up his hands, looking at them. He could detect the tiniest tremble from them, but it wasn't nearly as obvious as it had been before. "Thanks for staying over." Curiously, he approached the magazine, looking over Kenny's shoulder.

"No problem." Noting that Stan was looking at his excellent choice of reading material, Kenny smirked. "You like what you see?"

"Dude, I'm not sure what I'm seeing." Tilting his head, Stan tried to make sense of the – admittedly beautiful – unclothed woman. Before he had a chance to ask about it, though, Kenny closed the magazine and shoved it under his bed.

"Ready to get that book?" Kenny asked. "You're gonna have to go as Mysterion. I don't want them to know who I am. And I figure, you were their friend for awhile, right? So if I go, they won't mind so much."

"I wasn't their friend. I was just..." Stan shrugged. The closest descriptor he could find to his relationship with the Goth Kids was that he was their friend. For a little while, anyway. They still maintained a somewhat friendly relationship, though Stan was pretty sure it was just because he had naturally black hair and didn't have to dye it. "Yeah, all right. I guess you're right."

Kenny pushed himself to his feet, picking his way across a toy-strewn floor to his closet, where he kept his Mysterion costume. "Here. All you'll have to do is –"

"Act all dark and brooding like Batman."

Kenny grunted.

Just minutes later, Stan had become Mysterion. It was appropriate, considering he'd inherited Kenny's power, or, as Kenny had called it, his curse. Stan wasn't sure which was more accurate himself. Vaguely, he remembered Kenny being angry about Kyle claiming that it was cool, and now he could see why. As they walked down the street to Henrietta Biggle's house, Stan asked, "So, how often do you die, anyway?"

Kenny shrugged. "It used to be almost every day. Things just seemed to find me, you know? It's a couple times a week now. I don't know why. Maybe I'll find out someday."

Stan looked at the ground, wringing his hands.

"You... get used to it," Kenny muttered.

"You get used to it after you go catatonic for awhile and shut down," Stan amended rather bitterly. As a car passed by them, he almost expected it to jump the curb just so it could kill him. Kenny must have noticed him backing away from the street.

"I learned that I couldn't live my life in fear," Kenny said. "'cuz, I mean, yeah, it hurts. But I always come back. And you have something that I never did—Someone to talk to about it. I know I can't remember it at the moment, but I DO believe you, Stan." He paused, then added, "It's really weird that I can't remember it. I mean, it's like it happened outside of normal... space or something. I don't know."

"Yeah, not remembering is pretty weak, dude." Stan looked up at the Biggle house as they arrived. "I keep trying. But I really can't remember a single time that you... I'm sorry, Kenny."

Kenny shrugged. "It's all right. Ready to be Mysterion?"

Stan noted that the flippant dismissal of the apology didn't make it seem like everything was all right, but Kenny was already knocking on the door. Stan fell into his role, scowling as Mrs. Biggle answered it.

"Uh..." Kenny said, looking over at Stan. "We were hoping Henrietta was home."

"Oh, yes, she's in her room with her friends," Mrs. Biggle said. "You boys can come in if you like. I made some cookies, just out of the oven!"

"It's important that we speak with your daughter immediately, Ma'am," Stan said, lowering his voice in an attempt to sound like Mysterion. He was sure it sounded pretty damn good.

Despite the imperative nature of their visit, they were led into the kitchen anyway, where Mrs. Biggle gave them each a small bag of chocolate chip cookies. As they headed down the hall to Henrietta's room, Stan muttered to Kenny, "I met her like, once, dude. She's got to be the nicest person on the planet. I mean, she barely knows me..."

"And I know she's never met me before," Kenny added. "Weird. No wonder her kids are freaks."

Stan reached up to knock on the door, then felt it would be more Mysterion-like if he just let himself in. So he did. Behind him, Kenny asked, "What the hell are you doing...?"

They sat in the dark room, looking up in surprise as 'Mysterion' entered. Stan knew this place rather well, as he'd spent some time here when Wendy had, once upon a time, broken up with him. It was lit only by candles, and all the posters on the wall were from random unpopular subcultures that these kids all believed made them non-conformist. In a way, Stan understood why they acted the way they did... Because life could be really painful. Recently, he learned that it could be even more painful than he previously imagined, since on top of everything else in his fourth grade life, he now had to worry about dying.

The leader, a tall sixth-grader with curly black hair, rolled his eyes. "Mysterion." He looked past the super hero to Kenny, and his attitude lightened a bit. "And Raven. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Stan scowled at them. Mysterion never smiled in his recollection. He always looked angry... So opposite of what he was used to from Kenny. "The Necronomicon. Where is it?"

Henrietta glanced between Stan and Kenny, finally settling on the former. "What do you need that for? Last time I checked, Cthulhu was banished back to the Nightmare City. Good riddance, too. All these people making promises and not following through."

The youngest of their gathering, a kid who couldn't have been older than a kindergartener, added, "Yeah! If we ever see him again, we'll kill him!"

"Totally," Henrietta agreed.

Stan didn't reply. He just continued scowling.

"Uh. I'm just following him," Kenny added.

Stan reached over, taking the bag of cookies Kenny was still holding, and tossing them on the floor in front of Henrietta. He threw his own into the pile, as well. "Take them. And let us borrow the book."

Somewhat appeased, Henrietta accepted the offering. Stan knew her weakness well. It was the same as Cartman's, after all, even if she wouldn't admit it. That would be too conformist, because most of the rest of the world liked cookies, too.

"You don't understand, right?" Another of the goths spoke up. He was around Stan and Kenny's age, and had red streaks dyed into his hair. "This book in the wrong hands is dangerous. This is an account of the Old Ones. Their weaknesses. The means for summoning them. You use it in the wrong way, and you could, like, make this whole dimension cease to exist."

"It'd be total oblivion," the leader stated.

"Isn't that what you want?" Kenny asked.

Henrietta rolled her eyes. "You know what we want, Raven. How is oblivion even remotely close to a life of darkness and pain?"

"Oh. Right."

Henrietta opened the first bag of cookies, removing one of the freshly-baked confections and sampling the smell for a long time before taking a bite. "You're both intelligent," she said, as she finished the cookie on the second bite. The red-haired kid reached for the bag, but she pulled it away from him, instead opening the bottom drawer of her nightstand in order to hide them. The cookies went in, and the Necronomicon came out. The old tome looked as if it had survived for centuries. "Don't misuse it."

Stan reached out, trying not to appear at all nervous as he took the powerful book. He couldn't help thinking that just by holding it he was inviting something else to come along and kill him. "I protect this town. I'd never misuse such a thing."

"And don't let anyone see you with it," the leader added. His brows were knit above a very obvious scowl. He looked at Henrietta, disapproving of her letting the ancient text out of their protection. Standing, he opened Henrietta's window. "Go this way. Get out of here, before we change our minds."

Stan wasn't as adept as jumping in and out of windows as Kenny was, though he managed to tumble out of it without looking too stupid – he hoped. Conversely, Kenny easily jumped up, perched on the window sill, and then dropped down just moments before the window clicked shut again. As they left, Stan looked over his shoulder to see four rather angry faces staring back at him. "Jeez, dude. Is this thing really that powerful?" he asked.

Kenny shrugged. "I only saw a little bit of it when I was trying to get you guys out of R'lyeh. I don't even know why they have it."

Stan allowed a gloved hand to graze gently over the book's leather cover. "They're the least suspicious," he said. "The other cult members... They'd be the first ones the police would go to. I mean, even your parents..."

Kenny nodded. "It's a good theory." Reaching over, he took the book from Stan. "I'm just hoping that somewhere in here, it'll tell us how to subdue Cthulhu in case Plan A fails."

"If Plan A is Cartman, there's a good chance it's going to," Stan said, biting his lip. "I know he said he was going to behave, but something about this whole thing..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "We'll just have to be careful when we read it. No chanting ancient spells or calling for Old Ones to invade our dimension. We should be all right."

"Yeah," Kenny agreed, tucking the book under his arm as they headed toward Cartman's house.

* * *

They all sat around the basement table uncostumed as Kenny paged through the Necronomicon. Over his shoulder, Bradley muttered things now and then, pointing to some of the images, silently reading some of the text that had been painstakingly translated into English. Stan wanted to stay as far away from the book as possible; earlier, Kenny had mentioned to him that he'd have a sort of sixth sense about when dangerous things might lead to his next temporary demise, and the old book was practically screaming at Stan to stay away. He was afraid that if he accidentally read something within the pages, that he'd boil from the inside out, or something equally as torturous.

"Is there anything in there?" Kyle finally asked.

"It's a lot to try to understand," Kenny replied. "But to summarize, R'lyeh is just one prison for the Great Old Ones. It's where Cthulhu and his spawn dwell, waiting release. Getting to Cthulhu might be the tricky part."

Cartman said, "How is a giant god in any way hard to locate?"

"Because of this," Kenny said, pointing to an image of the octopus-headed creature encased in stone. "It's the mantra of the Cult of Cthulhu. In short, 'Cthulhu fhtagn,' or Cthulu dreams."

Cartman took this in for a moment, then asked, "You mean he couldn't take over the earth, so he went to sleep?"

"I dunno, dude," Kenny said. "He's also called Dead Cthulhu. It could just be a mis-translation of DREAD, but the pictures seem to suggest... well. Dead." He turned a couple pages, then held up the book to show everyone. Quite obviously, the image depicted the Old One as being very dead, with spears made out of stone struck through his entire body.

"But that was written before he was released on earth," Token noted. "This was all written a long time ago. Things have changed." He held his hand out for the book, and Kenny passed it over to him. Token turned a few pages backward, and said, "I think the only thing we really have to worry about is the fact that this entire dimension is gonna be filled with Cthulhu's sons and daughters."

"Is that all?" Stan asked sarcastically. He approached the table, but wouldn't look at the book. "I don't think there's any way we're going to be prepared for this, you know, guys? I think we just need to... Get it over with. We just need to go. We can meet back here in a half hour, and... we'll go. I don't think anything in that book is gonna prepare us for what we're gonna run into there."

"You sure, Stan?" Kenny asked. He pulled the book back toward him, flipped back a couple pages, and tore out one of the images. Folding it up, he put it in his pocket. The others didn't seem to notice, or didn't care, that Kenny had just vandalized one of the oldest known books in existence.

Stan nodded. "Yeah, let's get our costumes. We're gonna be super heroes, so we might as well look the part.

* * *

It was, of course, Mint-Berry Crunch who got them to the Nightmare City, breaking through the barrier between dimensions in order to allow himself – along with the other Coon Friends encased in a protective bubble – through the hole in the bottom of the ocean. He did so, as he put it, quietly, allowing none of the horrors to escape to torment the earth again, nor allowing anyone in the area to see them going. Of course, Cartman complained the entire time that Bradley's super powers were completely non-sensical, and no one could really disagree, except that they could all see that the kid truly did have these strange abilities. It just would have been a lot cooler if his power wasn't essentially mint and berries coming together in a fully-flavoured and satisfying crunch.

The last time they'd been in the sunken city of R'lyeh, they'd spent most of their time hiding, waiting for someone to come and rescue them. As such, they hadn't seen most of it, though what they had seen was burned into their memories. It was strange, otherworldly, and deadly in an almost beautiful fashion. For the two that had never seen it before – The Coon and Professor Chaos – they were both wowed and appalled by the city's appearance. Chaos held his hamster minions close as he backed into the huddle that the others had formed; in the distance, great winged beasts flew, turning their eyes toward the children before flying onward.

Apparently, a handful of kids just weren't enough of a threat to garner any attention.

The city was imperceptibly different, though it was hard to pinpoint why. It was still nothing less than a horror, but something had changed, giving it an air of tension that hadn't been there before. At the same time, it was quieter; the creatures that dwelled here clearly knew that their home had been invaded, and yet they made no attempts to pursue the invaders.

Mysterion turned, eyes scanning the horizon. Destruction had befallen this place; he could tell, even through the strange structures and twisting buildings that had existed here the last time he'd come. They had been changed – crushed, reformed, re-outfitted. Across their surfaces, the dragon-like children of Cthulhu crawled. Some acknowledged the kids from earth, some couldn't have possibly cared less.

"Oh, Jeez," Chaos muttered quietly. "I didn't know it'd be like this."

"It wasn't like this last time," Mosquito said. "Something..."

"Is different," The Human Kite added.

They all stood in a circle, back to back, as if their defensive positions would help them at all against the monsters that called this place home. All of them must have been thinking the same thing – that coming here was a fantastically bad idea.

Even so, they continued to stay close together as they tried to decide on a direction, eventually choosing to head toward where the light seemed to glow brightest. For a long time, the only sound was that of Iron Maiden's electric wheelchair, as they were all too busy watching their environment to be very chatty. Even the Coon had fallen completely silent – a rarity for him, but a most welcome development.

They entered a valley between two jagged peaks, and that's when it became obvious that they were being followed.

The sound of footsteps reached their ears. Something that traveled on four paws skittered around them, and yet none of them could see it. The rocks around them fell from the mountains; as pebbles fell around them like rain, it was Mosquito who finally broke the silence with a strangled whine.

"Just keep walking," Mysterion muttered. "Don't show your fear, Clyde."

To his credit, Clyde seemed to get himself more under control, even if he was now shivering so much that the others around him could actually feel it. Mysterion glanced over at Mint-Berry Crunch, who also seemed strangely concerned, despite the fact that, among them all, he actually had the greatest of powers. He was the only one that was an actual super hero. The others were all just playing around, save Stan, who, at the moment, couldn't die.

-THEY ACT AS IF THEY BELONG HERE.-

Chaos jumped, nearly knocking TupperWear over. "Did you guys hear that?!"

"Like a... voice. In my head..." Toolshed muttered, rubbing his temples.

The voices seemed so familiar to Mysterion. His eyes narrowed as he looked toward the shadows. The creatures were just barely there, invisible, and if his eyes fell on them just right, he could actually see their cold stares boring into his mind, reading his thoughts. Seeing his dreams... "Keep moving. Ignore them. They're just keepers. They can't hurt anyone."

The Coon looked back over his shoulder. "What the fuck are you talking about, Kenny?"

Honestly, Mysterion wasn't sure. He just knew what these shadows were, instinctively, as if he'd known his whole life. "Uh. Something I saw in the book. The shadows. Keepers of the Nightmare City. They'll send word to the others..."

He met Mint-Berry Crunch's eye. Both of them knew that nothing of that nature was in the Necronomicon.

"They're like... heralds..." TupperWear said. He paused, contemplating this. "They're going to send bad things after us, aren't they?"

"Not necessarily," Mysterion said. "They already know we're here. Something's... Something's definitely going on. Let's keep walking."

The light loomed in the distance. It appeared to be life-giving in one moment, and in the next, it transformed into some sort of horrible evil. The change wasn't visual at all, as the beacon never really changed in appearance. But it came from both the sky and the depths at the same time, giving it a sort of heaven/hell duality. As they got closer to it, the whispers of Cthulhu's children intensified, although their speech never seemed to state anything at all.

"Do you not wonder what happened to the Old One?"

In front of them, a shadow slowly congealed into something resembling a human. Its eyes burned red, and its face was hideous, covered in tentacles and scales. It never quite came into focus, trembling back and forth, as if it couldn't keep completely still. In one hand was a staff. The other appeared to connect directly with the land underfoot, as if this creature were part of the Nightmare City itself.

It looked toward a giant obelisk in the distance that towered above the other buildings in the area. "Weakened. Shamed. His children had aspirations of their own, and so the Old One sleeps as if dead. Imprisoned."

The Coon glared at Mint-Berry Crunch. "Nice job, asshole. You embarrassed fucking Cthulhu. Now how the hell are we gonna fix Stan and Kenny?"

"So, what, you're saying we have to save Cthulhu?" The Human Kite asked the creature.

It seemed to nod, and the affirmative was echoed inside their minds. "The faithful are few. If the Great Old One is not freed, those who forced him into slumber will be unleashed throughout the multi-dimensional plane. It is as it was written."

"Written? Where?" Mysterion asked, stepping forward.

The creature held up a stone tablet. "I've just jotted it down. Just here. See?"

The others stared for a moment. It was Professor Chaos who finally asked, "Bu—How—But if you just wrote it, you know, just now, how're we supposed to know that it's... going to... come to, uh. Pass. As you've stated?"

Mysterion pushed Chaos back. "It doesn't know. But can't you feel it? You guys, it's like the fabric of the city's breaking apart. Cthulhu's reign was supposed to be complete. That's why everything's so different. Because Cthulhu failed. He's not an all-powerful deity anymore. He's kind of a wuss to his kids."

As he spoke, the creature wrote something else on the tablet, before holding it up. "Children from another dimension shall save the multi-universes. Their appearances are recorded here, on this tablet!"

"We're right here! You saw us and you drew us on that tablet. That's not a prophesy!" Mosquito completed the statement with an angry buzz. "And what if we fail, huh?"

"Then I'll have to draw someone else," the creature stated sadly.

"So how do we get him out of the tower?" Mysterion asked, looking toward the obelisk in the distance.

"You are the Spawn of the Old One. His connection to the plane where Earth resides," the creature stated. "You will find a way."

Just as it appeared from the shadows, it dissolved back into them as well, first becoming some sort of crystalline black rock, before melding with the earth around it. A black veil flitted across the earth as it vanished, leaving the Coon Friends staring after it in quiet confusion.

"Hey, Keeeeenny?" Cartman whined, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Mysterion.

Still rather dazed by the underhanded way in which the revelation was delivered, the only way he could find to reply was a soft, "Huh?"

"Why didn't you fucking tell us you were the fucking son of fucking Cthulhu!?"

Mysterion gave The Coon a shove. "Shut up, Fatass. I didn't know."

And yet, it explained so much. Toolshed placed one hand on his shoulder, but Mysterion shrugged it off, taking several steps away from the others and rubbing the back of his neck. He was one of Cthulhu's children! How? When he looked back, the others were staring at him, waiting, maybe, for him to say something. What could he say, though? He'd only wanted to be a good guy, to help people. And not only that, but he just wanted to be a normal kid and figure out where his ability to be reborn every single fucking day came from. And he'd just been told that he was the son of one of the greatest evils ever known.

"I'm still the same guy."

"You're the son of a god!" The Coon shouted, barely able to contain his excitement. Something was going on in Cartman's head – of that, Mysterion was sure. But there wasn't time to think about that right now.

Mosquito raised a hand before asking, "Guys, maybe this isn't the time, but... Am I to understand that we're here to not only switch Kenny and Stan back to their right bodies, but, you know, save existence, too?"

"Kind of?" The Human Kite replied, looking at Kenny. "Look, dude. I don't care if you're Cthulhu's bastard son or not. You're still one of my best friends, and I'm with you. So... Let's go save reality or something, huh?"

"Yeah!" Toolshed echoed.

"Timmeh!" Iron Maiden concurred.

"We're all with you, Kenny."

And that's when Mint-Berry Crunch decided to state, "Yeah, we kind of have to be. I don't think I can use my powers anymore. They're kind of gone."

The small group of eight and nine-year-olds drew back into its close huddle, staring suspiciously out into the plains of the Nightmare City. From within the center of the group, Mosquito began to bawl.

* * *

They walked for hours. Around them, the spawn of Cthulhu watched, waited, circled. They seemed to be urging the children onward for a time, until the landscape notably changed, becoming more hostile. Cliffs dropped off all around them, their resulting ravines forming sharp stalagmites that would instantly kill any one of them if they were to have the slightest misstep. Before they got too far into that new environment, TupperWear suggested that they rest for awhile. No one argued.

Mysterion sat apart from the others, leaning against a blood red rock formation, poking at the ground with a stick and drawing random patterns in the dirt. He'd removed his hood, exposing tousled black hair that was damp with sweat; he'd made no attempts to smooth it down. It wasn't long before he heard the shuffling of someone's feet just behind him. Turning, he saw Butters, minus his tinfoil helmet, digging his toe into the dirt.

"Um. I know we're ... mortal ... enemies an' all, Mysterion, but I thought maybe you could use a friendly ear."

"Not really," Kenny replied. "I mean, what is there to say? I know I'm Cthulhu's son now. I've been tryin' to wrap my head around how, you know, something like that happened, but the more I think about it, the more I don't want to know."

"So... we go... rescue Cthulhu, and then—Then you can ask! Parents get... questions like that all the time, I bet. You know, 'where did I come from,' or... Or 'did you and mommy love... love each other when you made me, or... Well, I'm... Not sure that the, uh, almighty destroyer is used to answering questions like that, but, maybe..." Butters trailed off, sitting down next to Kenny.

Kenny was silent for awhile, then he asked, "How's Clyde doing?"

"Oh. You know. He's pretty okay, even though Bradley doesn't really have... powers anymore, and... And we're banished to a dark oblivion and, you know. Stuff. And I can't tell how far away those—Spawn things are when they're flyin', 'cuz I ain't got a... A depth perception anymore so I can't tell if they're gonna swoop down and pick me up so I keep screamin' and scarin' him, and—"

"You don't have a what?"

"Yeah, you... remember that time we were playin' ninjas, and... And you threw a pointy thing in my eye?" Butters idly poked at his left eye, which made Kenny cringe. "It's glass, see? I can't see in ... in three dimensions no more. It kinna sucks when all my friends go to those 3D movies 'cuz they're all blurry to me."

Kenny pondered this for a moment, then had to spare a smile for his nemesis. "...You really are a super villain. That's totally a super villain thing. You should wear an eye patch."

"Y'think so?" Butters asked.

Kenny chuckled, but didn't answer. He was almost out of energy to answer. He thought that if he stayed quiet long enough, maybe Butters would head back over toward the others and let him brood for awhile, but he had no such luck. Instead, Butters reached into his pocket and pulled out two foil-dressed rodents. "These are... my minions. They really make people feel better, if you want to give 'em a hug... You have to be careful, though. They're... A little fragile 'cuz... on account of them bein' just tiny..."

He put the hamsters on Kenny's shoulder.

Sighing, he allowed Chaos' minions to crawl into his hair. In the meantime, Kenny gestured to the obelisk, which was much closer now than it was when they first saw it. Within, Cthulhu would be entombed. Not only would they have to free him... They'd have to ensure that the Old One didn't immediately kill them all as a reward. There wouldn't be any waking up for Stan after that. "We're getting closer. It's going to be more heavily guarded by the Spawn that locked Cthulhu away."

"You can feel it, too, huh?" Butters asked.

Surprised, Kenny met Butters' eyes. "You can feel it?"

He nodded. "Yeah, kinda. Prob'ly 'cuz I'm evil, and they're evil, and I'm... attuned to their... Energies, because..."

"Butters, you aren't evil," Kenny said.

"Wh—but you just said I was a super villain!"

Removing the hamsters from his shoulder, he passed them back to Butters. "It must just be part of the atmosphere of this place. I bet everyone can feel it. It's probably part of being here... Maybe we're absorbing the emotions of Cthulhu's children. They're angrier."

"Yeah, but... They're not attacking or... Anything. 'Least... I don't think they are." Butters looked back around the rock to make sure everyone was still okay. "...huh, what's goin' on over there...?"

"But we're also not much of a threat."

In all, there were nine of them, none of which had any sort of ability that could help in this situation. The only boon they had going for them was their intuition about the children of Cthulhu who always watched them, always prowled just at the edges of what they could see. Not even Iron Maiden's steel shield would protect him from the wrath of those creatures; Timmy wasn't stupid. Even he appeared to fear what was coming when they forged further ahead into the Nightmare City.

What had they expected to accomplish?

"Dude, I dare you to eat it, Cartman!"

Kenny peered around the rock, narrowing his eyes at the others. They'd managed to start a fire somehow, and were all gathered around it for warmth. Token was holding up some sort of piece he'd cut off from one of the strange plants. "If you're so starving, eat it. Maybe you'll grow a conscience."

"Funny," Cartman said. "It's probably poison."

"No, no, wait, guys!" Bradley said. "I think if I concentrate enough..." He snapped his fingers. There was a spark between them, but nothing else happened. "Hang on..."

"I think we should feed the weird squishy plant to Cartman," Kyle agreed.

Butters hugged his hamsters close and called over to the others, "I'm—I'm not so sure that's a good idea... I mean, he could... Uh... Aw, hell. Go ahead, Eric. Give it a try, then we can see if it's safe for all of us to eat, too!"

Bradley snapped his fingers again. Something tapped against the ground. "There, see! Berries."

Cartman grunted. "Dude, I'm not eating your berries, man! That's sick!"

Laughter followed.

"What the hell are they doing?" Kenny asked, also looking around the rock. Butters was smiling already, and it wasn't long before a grin spread across Kenny's face, as well. "C'mon, man. They're trying to poison Cartman. We gotta see this."

As he and Butters headed over toward the fire, Stan scooped a handful of berries off the ground. He grimaced at them, and dropped them in the fire, where they popped for a few seconds and disappeared.

"Hey, Token, give Bradley one of your Tupperwear bowls," Clyde said.

"Huh? Oh, right. Hang on." Token had removed most of his costume. Reaching for his belt, where he kept several pieces of plasticwear that he hadn't cut holes into, he handed a small bowl to Bradley, who snapped his fingers again. This time, the berries fell into the bowl, and not onto the ground.

"Never thought I'd say this, Mint-Berry Crunch," Cartman said, reaching for the bowl, "But your power is pretty kick-ass."

"It's not much," Bradley replied, "but at least we won't starve, huh?"

Butters and Kenny integrated themselves with the others, sitting close to the fire. "Don't forget to make sure Timmy gets something to eat, too," Kenny said. He knew no one would forget, but it didn't hurt to say something anyway.

After Bradley had created enough food to feed everyone, Token reached for the plant that still sat on the ground between them. He held it up, turning it over, allowing it to sparkle in the firelight. "I still think we should make Cartman eat it," he said. "Maybe it'll give him super powers."

Kyle's eyes were half closed as he leaned against Stan's back. It was much more comfortable than leaning against a rock, that was for sure. Many of the others had done the same thing. "Dude, Cartman's stupid, but he's not that stupid. Besides, he's been fed, so I'm sure it's not as tempting."

Yawning, Token tossed the plant away. It seemed as if they were actually intending to settle down for the night. Kenny couldn't blame them, but... Falling asleep? Here? It was just a bad idea. The beings who lurked around them, always watching, were just waiting for them to let their guard down so they could pick the kids off, one by one, and make a meal out of them just as easily as they'd all eaten berries just a little while before. "No, guys. Come on. We have to keep moving."

Kenny pulled his hood back up and got to his feet.

Despite their tiredness, the others couldn't find any cause to argue. They looked at each other – some quietly voiced their complaints, but they all still got to their feet. There wouldn't truly be any rest for them until they reached the obelisk and freed Cthulhu. Then, this could all be over and they could all go home.

"Listen up, everyone." Kenny lowered his voice, and once again became Mysterion. "It's going to get tough from here on out. But if we watch each others' backs, we'll be fine." He looked ahead toward the R'lyehan landscape; the reddish rocks became blacker as they led up toward the distant tower where Cthulhu had been imprisoned. In the sky, the red eyes of the spawn were much more imposing. "Everyone stay close, and follow me."

* * *

As they went on, there was a slowly progressing and subtle change in the temperament of R'lyeh's denizens. They became more agitated. More of them started to show themselves, their otherworldly screams piercing the already strange ambiance of this dimension. They came in all different shapes and sizes, and while some were more human-shaped, some were even more grotesquely deformed than Cthulhu himself. While they seemed disturbed that the boys were progressively getting closer to the obelisk, the creatures never put forth any real effort to hurt any of them.

Once in awhile, one of the flying ones would dive at them. These had gossamer wings, and many eyes. Their teeth, too numerous to count – easily could have snatched one of the children up and carried him off with no effort at all. If only he had his super powers, Kyle thought to himself as they went on. He could destroy these creatures easily with his eye lasers, and they'd never bother any of the Coon Friends ever again! Plus, he'd be able to fly. He could fly right to the obelisk and free Cthulu, while shooting his eye lasers the whole way there and obliterating all the beasts in his way!

But that wasn't how it was playing out, unfortunately. Instead of having laser vision and flight, he was a normal, ordinary kid in a very dangerous place, with a handful of friends who were really no help, either.

"Dude, they could have attacked us at any time," Toolshed said, keeping close to the others. "What's special about now? What are they waiting for?"

"You're complaining?" TupperWear asked. He had to duck as one of the winged spawn swooped in again.

"He's right," Mysterion said. "Not that it's a bad thing, but what are they waiting for?"

"Screw it. If they're going to let us get all the way to Cthulhu, then who cares if they're leaving us alone?" The Coon asked.

"We care, because we have the ability to have a little bit of foresight," Mysterion replied, annoyed. "We care, because if they're waiting for something, we should attempt to anticipate it so we aren't caught by surprise!"

Timmy stated his own name, which everyone took for agreement. The others also offered their own agreement, as the fact that something was keeping the spawn at bay was creepier than the spawn themselves in a lot of ways. It was Token who offered the first suggestion. "Maybe since you're one of Cthulu's kids, they... want you to be on their side? Or they won't attack you because they... um."

"What, they're afraid of making Cthulu mad?" Toolshed asked. "I'd think that imprisoning him in a wall of stone for all of time would piss him off pretty good, wouldn't you?"

"I'm just throwin' it out there," TupperWear replied with a shrug.

"Besides, last time we were here, they had no problem with coming after ALL of us," Mysterion added. "Even me."

"Maybe the... maybe the good spawn are keeping the bad spawn back. I mean, how can we tell the difference between 'em? They all look kind of the same level of gross to me," Mint-Berry Crunch said, continuing to stay close to the center of the group now that he didn't have his powers. The poor kid was probably terrified, but despite that, he was holding his own pretty well. Maybe he'd grown a spine since Cthulhu had come to earth. Unfortunately, the majority of that spine had fled along with his super-human abilities.

Narrowing his eyes, Kyle looked at the nearest creatures. They prowled an invisible fence like angry rabid dogs on a short leash. Perhaps there WAS some force keeping them back. But there was a much more likely answer...

"We're being herded," Mysterion said.

"That's what I'm thinking" Human Kite added, nodding.

"Huh? Mint-Berry Crunch asked.

Mysterion explained. "We're being pushed on to slaughter. To a killing floor. They're not striking because they want us in a specific place first." As he spoke, the discord among the spawn grew, loudly. "See? They might want something from us."

"Or we're a sacrifice," The Coon considered. "Quick, Butters. Throw yourself at them."

"Uh..." Professor Chaos started.

"No. Don't," Kyle said, grabbing Butters' cape in case their somewhat intelligence-challenged comrade decided to listen to Cartman AGAIN. "Stay close. No one's going to be a sacrifice. That's insane, fatass."

"Look," The Coon said. "If one of us has to die, I'm just saying that it should be the super VILLAIN. We're all the good guys here, and then? Then we have Professor Chaos. He almost blew up a hospital once!"

"Th—that's just 'cuz you... 'cuz you told me to, Eric..." Professor Chaos muttered, hiding behind Kyle. Everyone glared at Cartman.

"Professor Chaos is on our side for now," Mysterion said. "So we're not betraying..." He emphasized that last word, eyes boring into The Coon, "one of our friends because YOU think that the spawn are looking for a sacrifice!"

"Come on, let's go," Kyle said, walking directly between Mysterion and the Coon with the hopes that it would break up any potential fight that the two of them might initiate. As it was, he could sense that Kenny was getting to that point, as he and Cartman were at odds more and more lately. "Besides, Cartman, you're more likely to turn on us than Butters is."

The Coon searched for an argument before exclaiming, "Untrue! It's Kenny that's the problem! He's Cthulhu's son!"

"God dammit, Cartman! Shut up already!" Kyle shouted. Despite his attempts to prevent a fight, he could feel himself getting dangerously close to breaking The Coon's nose himself, because he knew that he could, and he also knew that it would silence Cartman for at least a little while. Cartman also seemed to realize that he was treading on thin ice, because he took a step backward. At the same time, Mosquito placed a hand on Kyle's shoulder.

"Look, it's not worth it, man. Let's just keep going."

With the most recent argument dispelled, the kids continued onward. Kyle knew that it would only be a matter of time before Cartman succeeded in doing something stupid; currently, The Coon was near the front of their procession, probably planning his next move. Kyle and Clyde remained near the back. "You ever wish we really did have super powers?" Kyle muttered to Mosquito.

"Of course," Clyde replied. "It'd be amazing. I mean, you and I, we'd be able to fly."

"I'd totally teach Fatass a lesson," Kyle muttered. "I mean, Mint-Berry Crunch ended up with super powers. What's to say that you and I—" He trailed off as the beating sound of wings pulsed just above them. One of the creatures got too close too fast, spreading its claws and raking Kyle's shoulder. The force sent him sprawling across the ground with a muffled "Aw, FUCK!" exclamation reaching the ears of the others.

"God dammit, Kyle!" The Coon yelled. "Stop holding us up!"

Mosquito was already helping his fallen friend up, though he spared a glare for The Coon as he did so. "Shut up, Cartman. The only reason they're not attacking you is because you're too fat to carry off."

"Hey!" The Coon yelled back. It appeared quite clear that he was searching for a way to zing Clyde with some witty and poorly-thought insult, but he couldn't come up with anything. Kyle couldn't really blame him, either, since Clyde really wasn't known for verbally attacking anyone. Either Mosquito had totally had it with The Coon's jerkish attitude, or the Nightmare City was getting to him. Either way, he'd rendered Cartman speechless for the time being as they regained their bearings and started catching up to the others again. Kyle pulled his hand away from his shoulder to look at the damage, only to see that the blood coming from it was inky black instead of red.

"...Holy shit," Clyde muttered. Distracted, he missed his window of time to duck as another of the bat-winged beast swooped down and clipped him across the chest.

"They're done playing!" Mysterion shouted. He started back, possibly to help, with the others right behind him. Just as he was reaching Clyde and Kyle, though, the earth shook, breaking away the chunk of earth that the two injured heroes were occupying, and launching it a dozen feet into the air.

Kyle looked over the edge, terrified. There really wasn't anything that the others could do to reach them.

"Kyle!?" Toolshed called.

"We're..." He looked back at Clyde, who was staggering back to his feet. Staining his costume was a slimy green ooze that seemed to pour from the scratch across his chest. Dazed, Clyde touched it, and when he pulled his hand away, the green blood stuck to it, forming a sticky string from his chest to his fingers.

"Jesus Christ, Clyde!" Kyle shouted, pushing himself away from the edge of the floating platform. "We have to get down from here!"

"H—Hk..."

Clyde was changing.

Unsure of what he was seeing, Kyle took a step back as Mosquito's eyes turned blood red and split into hundreds of facets. The fake wings he'd attached to his back fell off, only to be replaced by real gossamer mosquito wings. He coughed, managing, despite these changes, to point at Kyle, who was now floating just above the surface of the platform.

He tried to land, but apparently he was no longer completely capable of benefiting from gravity.

Their costumes, ruined by the spawn attack, also began to change. The only way to describe it was that they became cooler, more heroic. A dark steel helmet encircled Clyde's head, forming antennae and a mosquito-like nose, as well as a pair of built-in goggles to cover his strange-looking eyes. Everything was in shades of deep blue and red; in the end, he looked like the hero, Mosquito, instead of a child with a horn tied around his face.

"Dude, you kind of look a little gay," Clyde said, still pointing. His voice droned with a very irritating buzz, and when he spoke, Kyle could see that his teeth were sharp.

"Huh?" he asked, looking down at himself. His costume had become seafoam green and purple.

"Oh, god dammit," he muttered. Rolling his eyes upward, he noted that he was now wearing a helmet. Like Clyde, it had a visor attached; it was green in colour, which caused everything around him to have a sort of green tint to it. Naturally, his first reaction was to flip it up...

Immediately, lasers shot from his eyes, carving a hole in the earth just a couple feet away from Mosquito, who quickly leaped out of the way. Too quickly. It was as if he'd been anticipating what would happen before it did, and, to Clyde's credit, he seemed rather stunned by that as well. "Put the visor back down!"

Kyle did so. The lasers stopped.

"You're like Cyclops!" Clyde said with awe. "Like how he had to wear that—that thing that kept his laser eyes from going off!"

"Yeah, but it makes me see everything in green," Kyle complained. He squinted at the visor, which was apparently the only thing keeping him from destroying everything he looked at.

"That's 'cuz your eyes are glowing green," Mosquito replied. The end of his statement ended with a buzz.

"Are you guys still okay up there?!" Mysterion called.

"Uh—" Kyle muttered, Clyde waved his hand at the edge of the platform, urging Kyle to say something. "Y—yeah, we're okay. Something... Something happened..." He attempted to put his feet back on the ground again, but no matter how hard he tried, he was always just a millimeter above it. "Clyde, what are we going to do?"

Mosquito looked up. The Spawn that had done this to them circled the platform a couple times, staring down at them. In their minds, it asked, -Can you hear me?-

They nodded.

-This is what you wished for,- the creature said. –But beware. This is the city if nightmares. Even a blessing can become a curse.-

The thing twisted in on itself, tying itself into impossible knots, before it vanished in a puff of black shadow. Immediately, the floating platform it had pulled into the air crashed back into the hole it had left in the ground, shattering.

"Kyle!? Clyde?" Mysterion and Toolshed quickly started digging through the heavy stones, and it wasn't long before the others joined in, as well.

But the Human Kite was still floating in the air where the platform had been, and next to him, with wings beating impossibly fast, was Mosquito. "Hey, everyone?" Mosquito said. He waved one hand as the others looked up.

"Whoa," The Coon said as he saw them. "Guys, look at how fruity Kyle looks!"

"...God dammit," Kyle muttered as he attempted to land.


	3. Chapter 3

"You don't look so good."

Clyde grunted his agreement. Since the rush of becoming his super-hero alterego, he'd been steadily feeling worse for the past—God, he didn't even know how long they'd been walking. Nor, he realized, did he have any idea who'd just commented on his well-being.

It was weird looking at people with his altered eyesight. He could see where their blood burned hottest.

"Clyde? Dude?" Kyle took a step back. "You're freakin' me out a little. You keep staring at me."

Like he's food.

Like he's what?

Clyde blinked, shaking his head and pulling the helmet off. His hair was slick, his forehead was hot, but he felt so cold. The worst part was, he knew exactly what was going on, because he'd created the very character he'd become. This was all going to be a battle of willpower. "I'm fine, Kite, don't worry about it."

"Well, if you're sure..." Kyle reached over, giving him a tentative pat on the shoulder before hurrying to catch up with the others.

How long HAD passed? Clyde tried to comprehend the passage of time, but with as ill as he was feeling, it was impossible. He knew that the reason there were no longer many spawn bearing down on them was that Kyle could now shoot them with his laser eyes and hurt them badly enough that they felt it better to keep their distance. They still lurked, though. Clyde could see their heat like most people saw the landscape around them. The vast majority of the spawn weren't visible... Except to someone who could see them in a different way.

"Kyle!" He pointed. Kyle turned just in time to raise his visor and blast the beast that had been stalking them invisibly into oblivion.

The thing that had done this to him said that this gift of powers was both a blessing and a curse. Well, Clyde's curse was obvious, but Kyle didn't seem to have one, which wasn't fair. Just because Kyle hadn't written any weaknesses into his super hero story didn't mean he shouldn't have a few! Maybe he was meant to be the curse, while Kyle was meant to be the blessing.

God, the rage.

No, it wasn't rage.

It was like a blissful nothingness that made his head swim momentarily. The worst part of everything that happened next – for which Clyde knew he was responsible – was that he could have prevented it, and he could have stopped it at any time. Every move his body made, every single demonstration of the raw reactive power of the simple mosquito, every pulse of strength and power—It was all preventable. And he saw it all play out in front of him like a script, even before it happened, because he could anticipate all their movements. Guess what they'd do next, and how to try to stop him. The helmet fell from his fingers, and he dodged between a forest of other people on his way to Kyle.

The relief when his teeth sunk into his classmate's arm was instantaneous. He drank deeply, and when Kyle tried to fight, Clyde simply threw the boy several feet away from him. He could hear the sound of shattering glass, and the screams of the others as the sizzling string of lasers beamed around them, out of control. Earth erupted around him, but his next target already struggled in his grasp.

Poor Butters.

Clyde shook him like a rag doll before throwing him away, too.

"Aaah! It – it itches! Don't let him—Oh, hamburgers! Guys, he's—Look out, Stan!"

He felt something sharp cut into his chest. Instinct dictated that he move on to an easier target, and so he wheeled around, searching for the hottest place he could find. The hottest blood he could see. He could SEE. So many colors...

Mosquito's one weakness was one he shared with his insect kin. He had to feed on blood, or he would enter this frenzy. On paper, it was cool. Edgy. Angsty. Despite the fact that his teeth had just managed to clip Token's neck, Clyde still found himself wishing that he would have given Mosquito less of a god-damned disadvantage.

Mysterion's boot collided with his chest. It was a lucky shot that he'd managed to get in only because there was so much happening at once. That tiny bit of luck ended up being Clyde's undoing. He yelped as Timmy's wheelchair pinned him to the ground by one hand, as Cartman's immense weight further limited his movement, and finally, as someone had the grand idea to hit him upside the head.

Swatted.

Blackness.

* * *

"Oooh, ow. Owwie..."

"You okay, Butters?"

"Kyle!? Jesus! Holy shit, Kyle!"

"Fucking Clyde! I knew we should have made him stay home!"

The scene was chaos. Token and Bradley were holding Cartman back as he tried to get to the now unconscious Clyde, who lay sprawled across the ground. Over him stood Kenny, out of breath, holding the helmet that Mosquito had previously discarded. It had already served its purpose as a club, and so Kenny tossed it to the side. "Cut it out, Cartman. He's out. I'm sure."

"He BIT Butters and Kyle! I don't want that freak anywhere near me! God dammit, throw him off a cliff!"

"We'll knock you out, too, if we have to," Kenny said calmly, biting his lip and crouching next to Clyde. He'd just suddenly snapped without any provocation that he could note, which was very unlike him.

He turned his head as a sort of strangled sob came from behind.

"It's okay, dude. Just keep your eyes closed," Stan said to Kyle, who was kneeling just an inch above the ground, almost prone, amid the ruins of his helmet. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"It's okay!? It's okay, Stan!?"

"Well—Okay, it's not—It's not exactly okay..." Stan pushed tousled blonde hair out of his face and kneeled down next to his best friend. "Just... Don't move. Give me a sec here..." he muttered, picking up one of the pieces of glass that lay on the ground. "I'm gonna make a blindfold for you."

The costume that the spawn had created for Kyle included wing-like spans of fabric from his hands to his feet. Using the glass, Stan cut a strip of the cloth away. "All right, you have to take your hands away from your eyes."

Carefully, Kyle did so. He kept his eyes tightly closed all the same. "The cloth isn't gonna keep the lasers from vaporizing someone's—someone's face, Stan!" he said miserably, though he still allowed his friend to tie the cloth around his eyes. "God dammit. God dammit!"

"No, it's not, but at least it'll be a reminder for you to keep your eyes closed." Stan finished tying the blindfold around Kyle's eyes, then took the other boy's arm to help him to his feet. "And we'll all help you get where you're going."

"Leave him behind! Leave him behind with Clyde!"

"Y—you shut up, Eric. If—If it was you..." Butters whimpered, rubbing his shoulder. "Jeez, it itches. If it was you, we'd help you along, too! So..."

Cartman wasn't satisfied. "He's bleeding black blood! Look! That's not natural!"

Not natural. Kenny sighed, turning his attention back toward Clyde as the others argued. Clearly, they couldn't leave anyone behind, but if Clyde was so maddened by what had happened, he'd only end up becoming a liability. But no, the Coon Friends never left anyone behind, not even Cartman. There had to be a reasonable explanation for this. Over the argument, which had risen to shouting level, Kenny called, "Does anyone know what Mosquito's story is?"

"Wul—yeah," Butters said. Everyone seemed surprised that it was he who spoke, which drew a scowl from the former super-villain. "Hey! As a bad guy, I had to, y—you know, read up on the heroes. Know what I was up against. S—so one day at school I asked Clyde about Mosquito's history... and stuff."

"Timmeh?" Timmy prompted.

"Well, he was... he was bit by a radioactive mosquito, see. An' it gave him super strength and reaction time and he could fly and stuff but he's like a... a vampire I guess. He has to drink blood or—or he goes crazy an' bites people."

"Goes crazy and bites people!?" Cartman exclaimed. "Who gives their super-hero badass selves fucking weaknesses like that?!"

"I'd say someone who knows how to write a well-rounded character, fatass, but you got well-rounded covered, and you're still an idiot," Kyle replied.

"HEY!"

As the argument resumed, Kenny rubbed his chin. "Hey. Token," he said, as a plan came to mind.

* * *

His unconsciousness was uncomfortable, because the hunger still burned. He needed to eat, or he'd be of no use to any of them. Didn't they understand that? No. Wait.

He'd hurt them, hadn't he?

Why should they have to make sacrifices for him?

"Hey. I think he's coming to."

"Hold it out. It has to be the first thing he sees!"

Clyde blinked his eyes open. Automatically, he reached for the plastic bowl. The intoxicating stench – he couldn't call it an aroma or a smell, really, because it STUNK – was too much for him to ignore. Before he knew what he was really doing, he drank it. It could have been poison.

"Fff—hhhh." Clyde threw the bowl aside. Reaching down to his chest, he could feel the open wound where Stan's one weapon, a power drill, had managed to pierce a good couple inches down. The blood was cold, strange, alien. "I—Think I'm..." He noticed that the worried expressions that the others had for him were quickly becoming somewhat angrier. Feeling that his next words would either save or damn him, the only thing he could manage to squeak out was "I'm so, SO sorry."

"It's okay." Kyle.

"Okay? Are you stupider than usual?" Cartman turned away from Clyde to look at the other super-powered kid. "He tried to eat you!"

Still dizzy from the blow to the head, Clyde shifted a bit until he was more comfortable. They'd leaned him against a rock, which helped him at least decipher up from down a little more easily, since it was an anchor in a world that just seemed to keep spinning around him. Eventually, he found Kyle among the others; the Human Kite had been blindfolded. Disturbed, and somewhat panicked, Clyde also noticed a mess of black blood that stained most of the green and purple uniform down one arm and across his chest. Every once in awhile, Kyle would reach up to scratch at the wound.

Because mosquito bites were itchy.

"Shut up, Cartman," Mysterion said.

Stan stood next to Kyle, one hand on his friend's shoulder. Clearly, Toolshed was rather unhappy with what happened, judging by the looks-could-kill stare he wore.

"Look," Kyle went on. "The thing that did this to Clyde and me said it would be a curse. So... This was supposed to happen. This is what they were expecting. And we can't let it tear us apart from inside. 'cuz after that, I've really learned something. We're strongest when we work together. We can't let this divide us now. We're so close!"

Clyde could see that Stan was still staring him down. After all, the Human Kite and Toolshed were best friends. In the end, though, Stan just muttered a 'yeah,' and turned away from Clyde.

He took a deep breath, leaning back against the rock and closing his eyes. All Clyde wanted was to take back what he'd done, even if he had to admit that it was pretty awesome. Seriously. He had awesome reaction time! And he could kick so much ass! It was amazing! If it hadn't been against his friends, it would have been even more so.

"H—hey, you're not gonna try to bite me again, are you?"

"Huh?" Clyde asked, opening his eyes. Butters fidgeted in front of him, one hand constantly scratching at a rather ugly wound between his neck and his shoulder. "Oh, geez. Geez, Butters, are you okay?!"

"Y—yeah, it's itchy, and kinda sticky, and you know, gross. But. Uh. I w—wanted to make sure you were okay and stuff."

Realizing that he did feel better, and lacked the insane drive to bite people that he had before he was knocked out, Mosquito was starting to connect the dots. Looking over to the bowl, he noticed for the first time that the inside surface was coated with viscous red. Oh. "Oh. Fuck, what did you guys do!?"

"W—well after Mysterion over there hit you over the head with your own helmet n' knocked you out, we were all... wonderin' what we were gonna do with you. 'Cuz The Coon wanted to feed you too one of the Spawn, and... And most of us didn't think that was fair."

"Uh. Thanks."

"Yeah, don't mention it. Anyway, you broke Kyle's face thing so Kenny picked up this big piece of glass and he was all, 'well, we'll just use one of Token's bowls and...' ...uh, well." Butters held up his bandaged hand. "We all did it. We thought that if... if you had enough that you'd stop bein' all c—crazy an' tryin' to eat people and such, so that's... that's what we thought."

At first, Clyde was kind of touched by what they'd all done for him. Then he realized exactly what he'd done – what they'd given him – and felt the sudden urge to vomit. He covered his mouth.

"Now—don't go doin' that!" Butters yelled. "We only got so much blood in us and if you... Get rid of it all, we're gonna have to go with Eric's plan!"

He wasn't ever going to live this down. He wasn't ever going to god-damned live this down!

Mysterion appeared behind Butters. His cape was torn, and judging by the colour of the bandages on everyone's hands, Clyde could guess why it was in such bad shape. "Are you all right to go on now?" he asked.

Rubbing his head again, Clyde pushed himself to his feet. Other than being a little wobbly, he was all right. Eating had definitely helped. "Let's get this over with. I want to go home."

"C'mon, Mosquito," Butters said. "Got your helmet here."

Blank-faced, Clyde reached out and took it, turning the face toward him so he could actually look at it for the first time. The thing looked evil, though it was almost how he'd always pictured it would look. Despite the fact that it did look so villainous, it also looked damn cool, and, as Clyde didn't feel very cool at the moment – in fact, he felt as if he were a total one-eighty of cool – he tossed the helmet aside, leaving it behind as they moved on.

* * *

Being unable to see was frightening. It would have been bad enough if they were at home, but here, in R'lyeh, it was even scarier. Though Kyle wasn't above relying on other people for help, he would have liked to be able to use his own eyes see where he was going, especially because his feet never really ever touched the ground as he walked. In addition to being blinded, he couldn't feel if the earth was going to fall out from under his feet! Sure, he could fly at the moment, but that was beside the point.

So he had a long time to dwell on the blackness. Stan's hand was always on one of his shoulders. Timmy had taken it upon himself to stay right in front of Kyle, so the sound from his electric wheelchair kept him going in the right direction. Maybe it was because he knew he couldn't see that sounds started becoming much more interesting to him, even if they weren't necessarily clearer. He just listened more intently to them, and he imagined that, in some form, he was learning to guide himself by the sounds he was hearing. Behind them was the constant drone that seemed to come from the beacon of hellish light that they'd started to head toward when Mint-Berry Crunch first brought them here. If that was behind them, they were going the right way. To his right, there was a very sharp drop-off into what looked to be a bottomless pit. It sounded very wide and open; nothing ever echoed from that direction. If that was to his right, he was going the right way.

Then, far ahead of Timmy came the unharmonious sounds of Cartman's constant bitching.

Kyle drowned that out, since he was used to both hearing it and subsequently ignoring it.

"How're you doing?" Stan asked after awhile. It was weird just hearing his voice without being able to see him. At least the Toolshed uniform made him look a little less like Kenny. Now, there really was no way to tell.

"Scared, I guess. You?"

"Uh. About the same, I guess."

"How close are we?"

There was a short pause. Kyle imagined that Stan was figuring out a way to put the distance to the obelisk into a descriptive enough statement so that someone who couldn't see could imagine it. "We're close," was his eventual response. "The monster things are still keeping their distance. It's weird, but I think you and Kenny were right. They're leading us somewhere."

In the blackness, Kyle dreamed up an image. The obelisk towering in front of them, the children of the Old One closing in, the sky a blood red roiling tornado of madness and insanity! "I kinda wish I could see it." Through his closed eyelids, he could determine lights and darks, where a glow permeated his peripheral vision and a dark shadow ran through the center. They were standing in its shadow. The great size of the obelisk overwhelmed whatever support structure it had, as it groaned loudly under its own weight. Screeching cries came from nearby, angrily bouncing from rock formations and cliff walls.

"It's pretty weird. I can see Cthulhu all twisted up around it like he's the building itself."

"You're saying 'weird' a lot."

"Well, this place is pretty fucked up, dude."

When he heard the tapping of footsteps behind him, Kyle turned his head, alarmed. His first thought was that one of the Nightmare City's beasts was going to attack them. Instinctively, he tried to find his footing to defend himself, only to remember that he could only touch the ground for very brief couple seconds at a time. His toe touched a smooth slab of stone, instead of the sandy, rocky terrain he was expecting – and had grown used to. It was as if they were walking on polished marble.

"Relax, it's Clyde," Stan said, though his voice radiated worry, and for good reason. Kyle felt the hand on his shoulder tighten briefly, then relax.

"Y'mind if I talk with Kyle for a bit, Stan?" Clyde asked.

"Kyle?" Stan asked.

"Yeah, it's cool. Find out what Kenny's planning or something," Kyle said. Stan released his shoulder and gave it a pat, and for an agony-filled moment, Kyle had no guide at all as he stood on a cushion of air, floating in dead space. Nothing anchored him; if it weren't for the sound around him, he'd have absolutely no connection into reality. He'd just be a thing, in the middle of nowhere. He could hear Stan's footsteps becoming more distant, and he was unable to help the panic that started rising in his chest. Fuck it... he was going to take off that blindfold.

And then Clyde took his shoulder.

"I wouldn't," he said.

Kyle lowered his hands away from the cloth. "It doesn't really matter anyway. I mean, the lasers cut through cloth—" He abruptly stopped speaking as Clyde pulled him out of the way of something in his path. Kyle didn't really care what, though, as long as he didn't trip on it, and so he didn't ask. "—anyway. This is just there to make sure I remember my eyes are deadly weapons."

"Yeah, I guess that's what that thing meant when he said..."

Kyle nodded.

It was hard for Kyle to think of anything to say at the moment. On one hand, he did forgive Clyde for biting him. On the other, it was uncomfortable, itchy, and just one more annoyance in this already annoying day. All he could manage was, "Hey, how are you holding up?"

"Fine, considering you guys all gave me a blood cocktail," he muttered. Kyle could feel him shiver, and, admittedly, the thought of drinking blood made Kyle a little ill himself. "I mean, they did what they had to do, but, dude. Sick."

"It was either that, or Cartman would feed you to the monsters." Out of habit, Kyle glanced in Clyde's direction, almost opening his eyes in the process. It was hard just remembering that he could kill someone just by looking at them, because he wasn't used to having something so powerful in his hands. If he could rework The Human Kite, it would totally be with wind breath or something instead of laser eyes, because... "You know, this really blows."

"Uh-huh. Hey. I ... wanted to apologize."

Kyle shook his head. "Nah, it's cool, Clyde. I mean, I was just in the way, right? I just happened to be the first person you reached."

When Clyde didn't respond, Kyle could feel the beginnings of anger. "...Okay, what the hell, Clyde."

"Nothing. Just... I'm sorry."

"Seriously—"

"Kyle, I think we're here," Clyde said, still holding onto his shoulder. "I'll explain later. I promise."

* * *

They stood together, a group of heroes sent to face down the mighty Cthulhu, all of them here for one purpose – to help their friends! And also to possibly save the multi-universes from utter and complete annihilation, but what did kids care about that, really? Cthulhu's tomb stood at the very tip of an outcropping, the ground around them burned powerfully into a smooth obsidian. At one point, Butters stood on the very edge, looking down into a fiery abyss and declaring himself to be the Lion King, after which it was ruled by all that if Butters did anything else stupid, they were going to tie him up and put him back in jail when they got back home. In fact, it was one of the first unanimous decisions they'd ever had where The Coon was also involved, and it made them feel slightly better about what they were about to face.

It was hot here, as if hell had reached out to touch even this plane. Kenny knew how uncomfortable Hell was, since he had, after all, been there. In some ways, this was worse; one couldn't die in hell. You could be tortured onto the point of death, sure, but it still wasn't final. Whatever happened here would affect all of them forever.

In the center of it all, the obelisk stood like a rude gesture, flipping off God, a challenge, perhaps, or the result of a plea that had gone unanswered. The image of Cthulhu himself seemed to be carved in dramatic relief into the structure; the Old One was writhing in pain, pierced with spears and swords, run through with weapons that none of the kids even had a name for. The expression on his otherworldly face was one of pain and rage.

Kenny reached into his pocket and pulled out the page he had torn from the Necronomicon.

"Hey..." Stan said. "That's..."

Kenny scowled as he unfolded the page, looking at the image on it, then up at the obelisk. It was as if the mad prince that had written the book looked into the future and saw this very thing. It was almost uncanny how one resembled the other. "This is how we free Cthulhu," Kenny said. His fingers touched the words written around the border of the image. Everything was in red – a warning. But this was what they came here to do. In order to get his own body back, in order to spare Stan the pain of having to die over and over, and in order to save earth... This had to be done.

Around them, Cthulhu's children waited, eerily silent.

"I don't think that's a good idea..." Clyde muttered. He came closer, still leading Kyle by one shoulder. For a red-eyed freak and one of the only people in their party with actual super powers, he looked like he was about ready to cry. "You said they were leading us to slaughter. What if they're waiting for whatever you're planning to do there?"

"They are," Kenny said, closing his eyes.

"Jesus," Mint-Berry Crunch said. "Then why would you want to do it?!"

"Look, you guys want to stay trapped in R'lyeh for the rest of your lives?" Stan asked. "Either we do it and we see what happens, or that's how we're gonna spend the rest of our lives. And I can't... I can't live like that. I can't keep..."

Kenny patted his shoulder. Out of all of them, Stan was the only one who could just say 'screw it' and go home, and he knew it, too. He'd chosen to stay, not just because he wanted his own body back, but out of loyalty. It was the polar opposite of The Coon, who was still possibly trying to figure out how to use Kenny's status as the son of a god for his own benefit.

"I practiced the pronunciation at home, before we came," Kenny said. "I figured they used to read this all the time at those cult meetings, so it wouldn't hurt too much if I did it. You guys should probably stand back. I don't know what this is gonna do when we're here."

The others backed away, sticking close together as they allowed Mysterion to hold the sheet from the Necronomicon up toward Cthulhu's tomb. Kenny turned to look back at them once; their eyes were fixed on him, hopeful and scared. They'd already come this far. All he had to do now was read the words on the page, but something besides fear was stopping him. It was an understanding, something he could feel in the air, within the tension of all the other spawn here. Something was wrong – a sense he got all too often while trapped in the Nightmare City.

Lowering the page to his side, he approached the obelisk.

"Kenny, what're you doing?" Butters asked.

"Read the fucking page! I want to go home!" Cartman added.

Narrowing his eyes, Kenny reached forward. The energy coming from the pillar in front of him almost hurt, cutting through him like knives. But where the others might have been killed by this closeness, Kenny felt a sort of kinship from it. It spoke not words, but from it came a wealth of information. How could Cthulhu kill his son? How could he allow something like that to happen? Had he just paved the road for his child to sit upon earth and use it as a throne?

"Whoa," Kenny said. He drew his hand back, only long enough to remove the glove from it, before he reached for the obelisk again. This time, he allowed his fingers to touch it.

Cthulhu could feel his soul.

The outcropping shook, sinking several feet in the span of a second. Everyone too close to the obelisk fell as the smooth obsidian cracked and splintered. The obelisk itself appeared to move... The creature trapped within it awoke, angry. It would kill all of them. Destroy those who put him here, and do to them what they had done to him!

"Kenny! Look out!"

Stan had barely shouted the warning when one of the spawn descended upon Kenny, pinning him to the ground and ripping the page of the Necronomicon from his hands. As it took off into the air again, it gave Kenny enough of a shove that he rolled to the edge of the jutting stone. The only thing that stopped him from going over was Stan and Token, who grabbed his hands and pulled him back up. It was hard for him to find his footing again, since the ground still shook, and as it did, the obelisk started to glow brighter and brighter. Spiderweb cracks appeared in the surface.

"Oh. Dude. That is NOT GOOD," Stan said as he and Token pulled Kenny back toward the others. He pointed backward, in the direction from which they'd come. Rising out of the ground was the creature they'd met earlier – the one who'd told them that they had to head toward the obelisk in the first place. It still shook, its appearance still too unfocused to really see in any detail. As it rose from the earth, it changed, shedding the appearance of one of Cthulhu's children, and taking on the visage of something resembling an old corpse. It also grew, becoming larger and larger until it rivaled the size of the obelisk itself.

The spawn that had taken the page from Kenny's hand perched on its shoulder and allowed this wraith-like thing to take it.

"All you had to do was read the page," it said, voice somehow soft, despite its size. "You would have done our work for us, and trapped the Great Old One forever."

"What the fuck is that?" Kyle asked.

"You mean WHO," the being replied. "I am Ithaqua."

"Oh god, he's gonna kill us," Mint-Berry Crunch whined.

"No, it's okay, he's got to tell us his plan before he can kill us," Kenny whispered. "It means we still have a little time. Stay close. I just need a couple minutes to think this through."

"Think fast, Mysterion," Professor Chaos urged.

"You see," Ithaqua went on. "You brought with you the page from the Necronomicon. I could see that you believed it would free your scion from his prison! Instead, it would have trapped him there forever, allowing me to fully take over this realm, and earn the complete respect of Cthulhu's children! But by touching his prison, you have awakened him!"

Stan tilted his head. "Dude. Why didn't you just, you know, take the page from us in the first place and do it yourself?"

The spawn nearest to the Wraith looked at him, but he could only shrug. "A GOOD QUESTION! And now, I shall read the page from the Necronomicon and trap Cthulhu for all eternity!" An evil-sounding laugh followed, before the creature muttered, "Now, where does this start..."

"Uh, Kenny?" Stan prompted.

"Shut up, I thought he'd have more of a monologue than that. I'm still thinking." He looked up at the Wraith, who was turning the page around, and trying to figure out where the reading actually started. The whole thing went in a circle, with no beginning and no end – it was all just a line of words. It would take some time to figure that out, at least. "Stall him."

"Stall...?"

Kenny nodded. "C'mon, guys. I still need more time."

None of them were actually in any position to stall a bunch of giant demigods, and so no one could offer up any suggestions for doing so. Eventually, it was Kyle who came up with the idea. "Clyde. Point me at one of those things."

Clyde caught on quickly, and, taking Kyle's shoulders, he aimed the Human Kite at the most imposing looking of Cthulhu's spawn. "All right, now."

Kyle took off his blindfold.

It only took a second for the spawn to vaporize. Able to see now, he attacked creature after creature, but they just kept coming.

"You're just pissing them off now!" Kenny said. Instead of holding back, the beasts were now pushing forward, and while a good many of them were now dead, it seemed that for every one that died, several more came to take its place! "I mean, it was a good thought, but—"

"Well how else are we supposed to stall them!?" Kyle asked, putting the blindfold back on.

"I don't know," Kenny replied. "I have no idea."

* * *

It was a horrible amalgamation of creatures that bore down on them. Now that the truth was revealed, none of them seemed compelled to watch from a distance. The lesser spawn turned their eyes to the invader, Ithaqua, as the Wraith towered above them all. They crawled across the entombed form of Cthulhu, irreverent, as clawed hands reached out. The kids huddled together, though backing away from the monsters was really only prolonging the inevitable, and the spawn knew it. They didn't have to rush to kill their prey. After all, they had already lived for an uncountable number of years. They could spend decades torturing the South Park natives before they finally killed them.

The stone form of Cthulhu began to shift, to crack, but the awakening was far too slow. Already, Ithaqua was chanting the words that would seal the Great Old One again, and this time, Mysterion wouldn't be able to awaken him.

Mint-Berry crunch whined. Suddenly, without any means to protect himself, he was no better than any of the other fourth graders. "I want my powers back!" he cried. Toolshed looked back over his shoulder; their friend wasn't running away, but he was truly upset that the dimensional rift had cut off access to his many useful abilities.

"...Huh," Mysterion mused.

"Kenny?" Kyle asked. Still blindfolded, he stood near the center of the group. Despite all their differences, the others seemed to be protecting their friend. Maybe because it was hopeless for any of them to make it out alive.

"You got any more tricks up your ass, now's the time," Cartman added.

"...Brad," Mysterion said.

"I can't! I don't—I don't have my powers. They don't come from this dimension! I'm sorry!" Mint-Berry Crunch gritted his teeth. One of the spawn's hands snaked around his ankle, giving it a tug, and he fell over. The echoing laughter of the gathered beasts filled their ears as he shouted, "Jesus CHRIST!"

Clyde rested a hand on Kyle's shoulder, pulling him away from a tentacle that nearly stole him away. When he spoke, his voice still held the undertone of a droning insect, thanks to the curse that had been placed on him. "If you're gonna give one of those 'you can do it' speeches, Mysterion, save it."

"No, no," Mysterion said, almost gleefully. "Mint-Berry crunch's powers aren't from this dimension, but mine ARE. Stan!"

"What?" Toolshed looked over his shoulder. "Oh, no way, dude. I don't even—I don't think that's—I wouldn't even know how!"

The eyes of the others were on him now. He looked back over his shoulder to see his friends staring at him expectantly. With their guard let down, one of the creatures picked Professor Chaos up by one arm, and dangled him some forty feet in the air.

"Aw—Aw hamburgers! Guys! Get me down from here!"

"You just have to believe it," Bradley said. "You just have to know you can do it!"

"I said, this isn't the time for god-damned 'you can do it' speeches!" Clyde hissed.

"Now, Stan," Kenny urged. "Or else they're gonna eat Butters."

"Fuck," Toolshed muttered, holding out his hand to the thing that held Butters in the air.

He had to believe it. At this moment, he had nothing else to lose; belief was a powerful thing, in that it was so hard to accept something, to believe it, if you didn't know it was real. It was a discerning thing, it held power over religion, it created conspiracy theories and fooled stupid people into following the masses. And now all Stan had to do was earnestly believe that he had super powers. If he couldn't somehow harness Kenny's Cthulhu-given abilities, they were all going to die.

Bradley did it. Mint-Berry Crunch, of all people, actually had super powers. He was from another planet. If the lamest out of all of them could somehow become the most awesome – with the power of mint and berries, no less – than surely Stan could match or surpass THAT.

He held out his hand. "Nothing's happening!"

"You IDIOT," Kenny yelled. "Right now, you are the SON of fucking CTHULU. Stop being an asshole!"

And that's when a shadow simply consumed the creature holding Butters up in the air. The spawn ceased to exist; with his other hand, Toolshed reached for Butters, and a shadow cradled the falling boy and lowered him safely to the ground. He really had no time to parse the fact that he was using shadow and bending it to his very will.

"Dude," TupperWear said. "Sweet."

Kenny cleared his throat. "Sorry about the asshole comment."

"Hey, whatever works," Stan replied. It had been the little push he'd needed, so he couldn't be too upset. And now, the creatures were all fairly confused with this new wrench thrown into their plans.

Taking the opportunity, Stan reached out to another of the spawn, folding his fingers into a fist. The shadowy tendrils that somehow obeyed his command crushed the creature like it was made out of paper.

"Oh god. Jesus," Stan muttered.

"Keep it up, Stan!" Kenny encouraged, looking toward the obelisk as it continued to crack. Giant pieces of stone fell to the ground as the Old One stirred. Within their minds, they could start to feel his presense – angry. Vengeful.

Ithaqua ceased his chanting, turning his attention now to Toolshed.

The Wraith raised his foot, bringing it down toward the huddled group of kids. Seeing this coming, knowing he was the only one who could potentially survive the impact, Stan ran away from the others, and Ithaqua's foot followed. Defensively, he raised his arms above his head, even though it wouldn't do any good. This would crush him, just like the garage did just days before. He'd die, and the others...

Stan couldn't imagine what would happen to the others.

"No!" he yelled.

He felt a force springing from him that was something different than the shadows he'd used to kill. This was closer to the feeling he'd had when he saved Butters, except this was more a part of him. He could see the shadows of the others stretching toward him... The shadows of the rocks raced to his aid, and even the giant swath of darkness that Ithaqua cast across the ground surrounded him like a blanket.

The Wraith's foot pressed against the barrier. For the moment, the shadows formed a force field around Stan, keeping him safe... But with each passing moment, the blackness pressed inward. It couldn't withstand the force of another Old One forever.

It was like being crushed. He had to hold on.

Mysterion could see what was happening. Through breaks in the cloudy shadow blanket, he could tell that Stan was struggling, and the pain was evident on his friend's face. He had to do something, but the only thing he could think of was to dig his fingers into the cracking stone at the base of Cthulhu's prison and start ripping chunks away from it. When this task proved too difficult for a nine-year-old with no super-human strength, he just started beating on the rock with closed fists, instead.

"Can you hear me, you asshole!?" Kenny screamed at the obelisk. "I KNOW you know what happened! I can FEEL it!"

"Don't piss him off, Mysterion!" The Coon shouted.

"Fix this! Now! You owe me that! You fucking owe me that!"

With the Spawn distracted by Stan's sudden manifestation of powers, they didn't care that one of the children was trying to break down an Old One's prison. Kenny continued to beat his fists on the stone, stopping just long enough to look back once, toward Stan...

He couldn't hold out forever. The pressure against the shadowy shield was just too great. Even though the Old One's foot was still high above him, he could feel the crushing force. Spreading his arms out, he tried to concentrate. Tried to keep the shield from caving in. Bloodshot eyes opened, looking toward the tower that Kenny still assaulted; if he could hold out until Cthulhu was freed, the others might be safe...

More stone broke away. The imprisoned Old One opened his eyes.

"Do it now!" Kenny screamed. If Ithaqua managed to kill Stan, that would be it. Only an immortal could kill another immortal... There would be no resurrection. That couldn't happen. Kenny couldn't let that happen. And the worst part was, Stan knew that this death would be forever, and he had still made that sacrifice.

Come on. Come on.

Ithaqua's foot pressed against the shadowy barrier, and finally, it broke, crushing the boy beneath it.

"STAN! Fuck!" Cartman yelled, with more anger than anyone would have expected. "That fucker killed Stan! Cthulhu! Wake up, you god-damned son of a bitch!"

Perhaps seeing his son – his connection to earth and one potential ticket to taking over its corresponding dimension – crushed beneath the foot of a rival god – was enough to awaken him fully, or maybe it was all of Cartman's ire directed at him that caused him to break free from his rocky tomb. The shattering was so powerful, so complete, that the rock that bound him simply turned to dust and floated away.

Ithaqua tried to run, but Cthulhu reached him before anyone could blink; one of the Great Old One's hands wrapped around the Wraith's throat.

-YOU HAVE STOLEN THIS REALM,- the voice boomed. It seemed to reach every corner of the Nightmare City at the same time; the spawn fled from it, and the Wraith, terrified of R'lyeh's lord, pleaded in some incomprehensible language for the release that death would grant.

Plants snaked up from the black earth, wrapping around Ithaqua's legs, piercing white flesh, traveling up the creature's body and through it as it pinned limb and life to the will of Cthulhu. The vines turned to a black obsidian, trapping Ithaqua, still alive, to the ground beneath their feet.

"Hey, isn't that the plant you tried to get me to eat?" Cartman asked.

-YOU WILL REMAIN HERE, ALIVE, FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY,- Cthulhu spoke.

The Wraith cried out, begging the spawn for help, but none came to his aid.

The Old One turned his attention now to the super hero team, perhaps sensing the danger from the two of them that had been given powers by one of his own children. Wordlessly, he offered a subtle, deliberate wave of his hand, which passed over Kyle first, then Clyde. Kyle suddenly ceased floating and unexpectedly became reacquainted with gravity much more quickly than he would have liked. His knees gave out and he stumbled forward, falling to his hands. Without having to worry about shooting lasers anymore, he tore the blindfold from his eyes.

"Stan!?"

Cartman gestured to the red splatter near the feet of the bound Wraith. Kyle could only stare in horror.

"Uh, guys..."

'Mysterion' pushed himself to his feet, breathing deeply. He was dizzy, disoriented, and exhausted, but he still managed to stand without toppling over. Token stood next to him, offering support, and Stan wrapped his arm around the other boy's shoulders. Somehow, just moments before he was crushed, something pulled him back to his own body. "That—That's Kenny. They killed Kenny."

"...Bastards," Kyle muttered.

Trembling fingers pulled back the hood he was wearing, and his own dark hair fell across his face. It was good to be back, but not at the cost of one of his best friends. The others didn't even realize... As Kenny had put it once, on some subconscious level, they all knew he'd come back. But this time, it would be for real, and Stan had no idea whether or not he'd even remember this later. He didn't know how it worked, because for the life of him, he couldn't remember ever having reacted to Kenny dying before. His mind just seemed to be wired to expect Kenny's return.

Right now, though, they had a more pressing problem to consider. Namely, the fact that Cthulhu looked pissed.

It seemed, however, that Cartman knew exactly what to do. Anyone else would have considered standing in front of a horrible evil and waving your arms around to be stupid. However, this seemed to procure a favorable reaction from the Old One, who crouched down to The Coon's level and... Stan could swear that he saw a smile on that octopus-like face. With no fear whatsoever, Cartman crawled up one of the creature's tentacles and stood right between its eyes.

"Cthulhuuuuuu..." Cartman practically purred. "Me and my friends would like to go home noooow? Can you do that for us?" One hand stroked the god's face gently, like one would pet a kitten. As the Old One looked between Cartman and the others, it seemed to be considering... Would it be better for him to return them home as his dear little buddy had asked, or should he keep them all here to act as slaves for the rest of eternity? A tough call, to be sure.

-I WILL RETURN YOU TO YOUR PLANE,- the Great Old One boomed. With a sigh that tousled everyone's hair, he reached up to gently take Cartman, and gave him a very careful hug before returning him to the ground. Cartman smugly arched his eyebrows at Kyle, who could only roll his eyes.

So they had a road home. But what about...

Stan made himself look toward the spot where he'd been standing just a second before the Wraith's foot crashed through the shadow shield. The force was so powerful that there wasn't even a body left behind. What would have happened then? Would Kenny have gone on pretending to be someone else forever? Stan's parents and sister would never have even known that their real son was dead, because no one would have believed it.

What would they tell Kenny's parents? Would anyone ever know how many times Kenny had died? Hell, Stan didn't even know that. How could some kid have that much pressure thrown on him, and not even have any sort of legacy to show for it? Stan understood now, why Kenny always seemed so odd and distant sometimes. Quiet. The worst part was that he never would have gained that understanding if he hadn't died once himself. Maybe he could be thankful for that, at least. And overall, it didn't matter to Stan or anyone else, really, that Kenny was the son of one of the most evil beings in existence, save maybe Ithaqua the Wraith.

As he stood there over the spot where Kenny had given his life, he had no idea that the eyes of the Old One were fixed on him, considering.

"Kenny... You guys. He's a hero," Stan muttered. It was the only eulogy he could think of.

"Dude, you're the hero," Kyle said. "You're the one that used your awesome shadow powers to kick some serious ass. We all would have died without you."

No one would know.

"Wait," Stan said. He actually ran toward Cthulhu, close enough to feel the heat from the massive creature radiating off the rough hide. "No one... No one knows. No one—"

The Old One's red eyes looked down on him, and then away. Cthulhu seemed to ignore him completely. –BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE, AND DO NOT RETURN. YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE IT AGAIN.-

* * *

The transition was sudden. He was pulled directly from R'lyeh and into his bedroom, where he opened his eyes in his own bed. He expected to see Cthulhu towering above them, set against the backdrop of a red sky. He expected the Old One's numerous offspring to be staring down at him, forever watching and waiting. He could still feel the power of Ithaqua, the strength he just barely held off... Long enough for Kenny to convince his father to switch them back to their proper places.

Wincing, Stan crawled out of bed, dragging himself over to his dresser mirror. It felt right to see himself there again – black hair, grey-blue eyes, the facial features he'd come to know in his nine years of life. On one hand, it was a relief. On the other...

He rested his forehead against the surface of the dresser. Kenny was gone.

There was a knock on his bedroom door, though his mother opened it anyway, without waiting for a reply. "Oh, I'm glad you're up, dear. It's time for school."

"...School?"

"Yes, I think you've rested long enough. It's time to be getting back." She shut the door again, leaving it open just a crack so she could make sure that Stan didn't crawl back into bed. It was the same as always.

Didn't she realize they'd been gone? Didn't she know that they'd been stuck in the Nightmare City for—How long had it been? It felt like days!

"Hey, Mom? What day is it?" He called.

There was a pause before she replied. "Monday morning! Don't try to tell me it's Sunday. I'm making sure your father doesn't fall for THAT again! Get ready for school, Stanley!"

"Christ," he muttered, running his hand through his hair. Rubbing his eyes, he searched for a comb so he could at least make himself look a little more presentable.

Less than an hour later, he was trudging toward the bus stop, dragging his feet through fresh snowfall, looking down at the ground. Somehow, he had to come up with a way to tell the others what Kenny had gone through in his life, because it was important to Stan that they at least cared. And if they didn't believe him, at least they'd have the idea in their minds that maybe Kenny was a lot different than any of them ever could have imagined. Sure, he was the son of Cthulhu, but he was also their friend, and had dealt with way more than a kid ever should have had to go through.

As he neared the bus stop, he could hear the voices of the others. When he looked up, Cartman and Kyle were arguing at the sign. The latter had the sleeve of his coat pulled up, showing off the place where Clyde had bitten, in order to prove that his blood was no longer black, apparently. At least, that's what Stan was able to glean from the debate.

"Guys, cut it out," Stan said as he came up next to them. His hands were shoved into his pockets. "It's like you guys don't even care."

"The fuck?" Cartman asked. Rubbing his chin, he rolled his eyes back, thinking. "Hey, yeah, I care that after I saved the world, I have to wake up and go to school the next day. I agree with Stan, this is bullshit."

"Yeah. I agree with Cartman," Kyle added. "Mark this down in the history books."

"No, I mean about Kenny."

"Being poor again?" Cartman asked. Kyle elbowed him, but he still continued, "Yeah, I guess he's probably pretty pissed off. Nice going, Stan."

"Uh..." Stan started.

"See? Look, here he comes. Seems pretty upset," Cartman said. "If I weren't afraid of catching poor, I'd ask him to stay over my house for a few days so he could have food for dinner, instead of like, cardboard or whatever—"

"God dammit, Cartman!" Kyle interrupted, as the argument began anew.

Stan glanced in the direction Cartman had pointed, and, indeed, Kenny was shuffling through the snow toward the bus stop, looking at the ground and appearing otherwise completely okay. Sure, he looked tired, too, and somewhat distant, but he was alive! Grunting a greeting, he stood next to Stan, looking up just long enough to arch his eyebrows at the argument, which had now turned to a very heated inquiry as to whether or not Kyle's improved green and purple kite costume had been the result of inner gay. "So we're back to normal, then?" Kenny asked.

"But you—The—At the—"

Kenny blinked. "Are you okay? C'mon, dude. I'm the one who—" He trailed off, though, waving a hand as if to dismiss the thought. Amending, he finished, "Well, I feel like I got crushed, anyway."

He must have been expecting that none of them would recall what happened. Cartman and Kyle certainly didn't appear to, and since it had been the same story for years, why should it be any different now? But something HAD changed. Some sort of floodgate released in Stan's mind, and he came to an abrupt and somewhat disturbing realization.

"Fuck, Kenny. I remember. Every. Single. Time."

Kenny's dark blue eyes widened, as he looked between Stan and the others. "You really do?"

Stan nodded, massaging his temples. "I asked him—I said that... I thought someone should remember. I guess he didn't want his kid having to hold onto that burden alone. And now I... It's like these holes in my memory are fixed."

Had Cthulhu actually heard him? Was it just because he'd been in Kenny's body? The memory overload was such a shock that Stan almost fell backward when the kid who always hid his face behind an orange parka wordlessly threw his arms around his shoulders.

Distracted from arguing, Cartman groaned. "God dammit, you guys! Get a god-damned room!"

And just as suddenly, Kenny gave Stan a shove, clearing his throat. Yes, they were manly men. And manly men did not hug.

* * *

Epilogue:

"So..." Stan began, as he caught the football.

Kenny took a step back to catch the return pass. It was a few days after they'd returned from R'lyeh, and since their initial moment of realization at the bus stop, neither he nor Stan had brought up the whole thing where Kenny had died hundreds of times. "Look, you've been wanting to ask. Just... Just ask." He threw the football back, and Stan caught it, staring down at it sheepishly. He'd come over with the premise of starting their project over again, but Kenny knew the real reason.

"It's just kind of weird knowing that one of your best friends is the immortal son of Cthulhu." He passed the ball back, and added, "And he's playing pass the football."

"Yeah, well, the immortal son of Cthulhu is nine years old and thinks taking over the world is weak. So."

Stan chuckled. At least the ice was broken. "Did you ever remember the garage collapsing on me?"

Kenny shook his head. "Nah, it's weird. I guess it'd be how the others would feel if they believed me. I kinda feel violated, like someone had their way with my brain and didn't tell me. I mean, it kind of bothers me."

For a few minutes, they threw the ball back and forth, and the conversation devolved into small talk again, before they finally started to touch on what they were going to do about their project for class. Neither of them could afford to buy more plants, though maybe if they did something about memories – and MISSING memories – they could make a decent presentation. Unfortunately, they had absolutely no scientific proof, and the conversation eventually led right back to the elephant in the room – namely, Kenny's immortality.

Bored, Kenny threw the football to one of his dogs, and leaned against the side of his house.

"Like you said... I kind of understand now. I realized it sub-consciously. Like... Sometimes you'd die and Kyle and I just wouldn't... Uh."

"You didn't care." Kenny shrugged. "You don't have to feel bad about it. I mean, it pisses me off sometimes. Like when Kyle needed that kidney transplant and I just wanted you to acknowledge that I fucking died all the fucking time." It was a point that often got to him lately, even though he sort of remained passive on the whole issue normally, sometimes he just wanted to punch someone. He hurt, too, dammit! And having someone ask him if he was okay after the fact would have been really awesome. Instead, all he got half the time was his closest friends ignoring him almost entirely, and Cartman calling him poor. It was really other peoples' non-reactions that grated on him over time, and not the fact that he died over and over. It was amazing how easily he could adapt to pain.

He noticed that Stan was leaning away from him.

"You okay, dude?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Smiling, Kenny pulled his hood back. "I think it'll be okay now. I just wanted someone to remember."

"I still don't GET it," Stan admitted. "At least I don't have to drill you about what it's like."

That was something for which Kenny could be thankful. It was hard to describe what he went through and what he felt. Once, he managed to save the entire planet while he was in hell. Another time, he was commissioned to save all of heaven from Satan's invading armies. They made good stories. Maybe he'd tell Stan someday.

"No. Wait. I do have to ask you about one thing."

"Nn-hm?"

"Dude. What was it like having to share Cartman's body with him?"

Kenny grimaced. Along with almost everything else about his deaths, Stan and Kyle had completely forgotten everything about that little adventure. "It's something I WISH I could forget," Kenny grunted. "I remember when I first figured out I could talk through him. It was like waking up. I had no fucking idea what was going on. The whole thing was kind of a blur." Shaking his head, Kenny still managed a smile. "Why couldn't it have been you or Kyle?"

"Because Kyle and I aren't stupid enough to think ashes are chocolate milk mix," Stan replied. And although Kenny chuckled about it, it still felt weird to refer to his friend's remains while talking to said friend. Kenny's laughter turned a bit darker, though, and for the first time, Stan could see the age on his face. Too old.

"You were gone for a long time that time," Stan noted. "When you died from that muscle thing."

Kenny nodded. He didn't know why that time was different, or why it took so long for him to return. He imagined it was some sort of gift... he got a little rest, and then his parents got their son back on Christmas Eve. Of course, no one remembered that he was even gone. To them, he was always there, somewhere. He'd told them he'd just been hanging out. Much easier than trying to explain that you'd been dead.

Stan continued softly. "Well, I just... Thought you should know. We really did care. And I missed you, Ken. Didn't... remember missing you after you showed up again..." He scratched his head, biting his lip. "It's still kind of hard for me to put all the pieces together. Where you were and weren't... Sometimes I remember you being somewhere when I know you weren't there, like there's all these conflicting memories in my head. But we did miss you. I'm glad you're back." He reached over and gave Kenny a pat on the shoulder.

It was all Kenny wanted to hear. It made the whole dying and resurrecting thing so much easier to tolerate, even if it did fucking hurt. Still, he shrugged the shoulder pat off. "Come on. You assholes need me."

Of course, at that moment, the pillar he was leaning on fell over and crushed him. And, adding insult to injury, the awning that said pillar was holding up managed to neatly cut him in half.

Stan had seen iterations of these untimely demises so many times in the past that this one was almost tame in comparison. Still, he stood there, dumbstruck, for several seconds before he managed to collect his thoughts. As he walked away, he looked back over his shoulder.

"See you tomorrow, Kenny."


End file.
